


see my shapes (shift them)

by abovetheserpentine



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Felching, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Road Trips, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Tender Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Unsafe Sex, Wall Sex, it's mostly porn but i tried to give it some substance, kind of????? anyway it's the closest tag i could think of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 01:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10479144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheserpentine/pseuds/abovetheserpentine
Summary: When Liam wins two tickets to São Paulo in a radio competition, he tells himself he won’t go. He’s got work, he’s got a life in London. He can’t go.He goes.Then he meets Harry, and nothing is ever the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Ivana](http://helladonut.tumblr.com) said this idly one day: 
> 
>  
> 
> _I JUST REMEMBERED my all time dream LIRRY fic is one where they go backpacking togetheR, bc you have all that stuff from them in South America. Holding hands by the pool, going to Machu Picchu, dancing lessons ahHhh_
> 
>  
> 
> And so this fic was born. For the sake of my sanity, please pretend that homophobia doesn’t exist in this fic.
> 
> Title from the song _Synergy_ by Tash Sultana.

Years from now, Liam will tell everyone that November is his favourite month. He won’t be able to explain, exactly – but he’ll smile every time the calendar hits it, every time autumn looks like it’s coming to an end; and he’ll give a small, private kind of smile every time he thinks of Christmas in summer.

As it is now, he looks at the way his phone reads November 1st and sighs. The lounge area of his hostel seems dark and too loud, but Liam doesn’t know what else he should do – what else he really _can_ do. It’s been just under a week, and the four-week holiday that once seemed like a much needed break suddenly feels overbearing, too much for Liam to take when he thinks of home.

Zayn’s back there, still painting away day after day in the hope that one of his pieces will be selected for viewing. Liam thinks of his sisters; how Nicola is interning at that fashion label, working her arse off for barely any pay so she can live in some crummy flat in South London. He thinks of Ruth, and her husband, and the thought of a baby haunting them now more than it is bringing them joy or happiness. It’s been a year, and they’re still struggling. His parents share that struggle, and Liam tries to push memories of his dad’s wan face from his mind, working overtime at the factory as his mum puts in even more hours at the day care back home in Wolverhampton.

It’s all so much, and Liam’s head pounds with those worries – he thinks of his desk back in London, cramped and always a little bit too cold. His life isn’t anything special, and that’s alright. Liam’s never been one for getting swept up in dreams or ideals or any of that kind of thing – that’s for people who _know;_ whether it’s themselves, or the people around them. It’s for people who have a sense for what’s to come. Liam’s just... existing. That’s fine, it really is.

He maybe thought the tickets were a sign or something. He’d entered the competition on a whim, after all – he listens to BBC Radio One every day as he inputs data and numbers into his computer, wrapped up in a jumper and a button down and pants that should probably be fancier. Liam’s always maintained he doesn’t get paid enough to work in a suit, and it’s not like Sophia - who sits opposite him - is in heels and a dress, or cares much. She prefers flats and long skirts that go with comfortable, flowy tops. They’re alike in that way – though it’s not like Liam wears skirts.

It’s a quiet life, but it’s a reliable one – Liam was looking at a promotion before he took leave, trying to go from inputting numbers to dealing with clients face to face. He never imagined he’d be in an office at age twenty-three, but life’s kind of funny like that sometimes. And if he can get that promotion when he gets back, then he won’t be squeezing his bank account for every drop. It’ll be more comfortable – he might even be able to get a dog, something to accompany him on his Saturday nights on the couch.

The unused plane ticket made him feel bad, but Liam doesn’t know anyone that could have come on such short notice, and he’d rather liked the idea of exploring South America on his own when he’d realised that.

Now? Not so much.

There’re a group of girls over by the telly, just underneath it. They’re laughing, drinks in hand and chatting with fervour. Their accents are a mix – some American, some Australian, some from neighbouring countries. It seems Brazil is a popular tourist destination this time of year. Liam had read up on it, knew that outside of the wet months that it presented as a richly cultural place, filled to the brim with local activities to experience and landmarks to visit. Liam’s been around São Paulo a bit, but his hands haven’t stopped trembling since he landed. There’s an itchy feeling in his bones, like he can’t quite settle anywhere long enough to enjoy it. He’d wandered around Ibirapuera Park that first day, but even the calming sounds of nature couldn’t appease him. He’s done an array of things since, from visiting the fine arts museum, to exploring the football museum; to even admiring some of the old churches. He’s had his backpack with him – phone in hand but map tucked away as he ate from local delicacy stalls in the main avenues, paid barely anything for too much food in some hole in the wall restaurants.

It’s been nice, this change of scenery. Liam doesn’t feel like he’s resting, though – or like it’s a holiday at all, really. He doesn’t want to go up to that group of girls and try to make friends. He’s just... he’s tired of it all. Of the way in which he’ll have to subtly let them know he doesn’t want to sleep with any of them; of the way he’ll have to admit he’s alone; of the way he’ll have to tag along to some bar crawl because that’s what twenty-three year olds _do._

Liam just wants to experience some new things with some new people. Alcohol can’t be his vice like it was when he was a teenager, and he’s reluctant to start that up again in a foreign country with people who don’t know that about him.

“Hmm,” someone hums, and then suddenly they’re sitting down next to him, bean bag sinking beneath them with their weight. Liam looks up from his feet, his soft drink warm now, to see entirely too long legs – encased in severely tight jeans – and a flash of a bare hip poking over the waistband of some briefs before his eyes dart up, taking in a mess of curls atop this person’s head, their cheeks wide and dimpled with their grin. “Not much of a Coke man, myself,” His accent’s Northern, and Liam feels his shoulders relax a little at the familiarity. The man nods to Liam’s bright red can, as if Liam needed prompting, “Love that bitter tang of lemonade.”

Liam stares at him, mouth slightly agape. The man raises his eyebrows, grin splitting his face like Liam’s the most amazing thing he’s seen in Brazil, like he wants nothing more than to talk to Liam through the night. His green eyes are soft but bright, flitting between Liam’s like he’s asking for something he doesn’t dare name.

Liam swallows and clears his throat, giving a small smile in return.

“Bitter?” He asks, clearing his throat again when his voice comes out a little rough, “You mean sweet, yeah?” Liam leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees so it seems like he’s fully invested in the conversation and not being pulled along in its current, unawares and with a high possibility of drowning. The man has something about him, Liam knows – he’s one of those people, the ones who have that sense, that assurance that life will come to them as they go along. There’s a surety in the shape of this person’s shoulders that Liam lacks, and he feels himself inexplicably drawn to it, like a moth to one of those zapping lights. He can’t get too close, can he? Or he’ll fry up like those naïve insects.

“Sure,” the man says, and he moves to take the can from Liam’s lax fingers, his own brushing Liam’s before the drink is gone and he takes a pull, eyes on him. There’s no indication that he minds the warm temperature of the drink, or the diminished fizz. Instead, he smacks his lips once he’s done, licking at them and giving Liam a sunny smile. Like he didn’t just drink a stranger’s Coke – like he’s intimately familiar with Liam after their lips touched that same piece of aluminium. “This isn’t too bad, though.”

He places the can onto the table in front of him, and Liam realises in that moment that their knees are barely a hair’s width apart – that if he really wanted to, he could push them together and feel skin against skin, the rip in those jeans allowing for it. Liam’s shorts suddenly feel awkward and dorky and like he’s eighteen again, fumbling through life in London as if the whole world’s at his fingertips, he and Zayn ready to take on adulthood and succeed.

“What’s your name?” The man asks him, tilting his head slightly as his eyes search Liam’s face, then glide down to rest at where Liam knows his birthmark is. It’s like that movement jerks Liam out of some kind of hypnosis, and he looks around the room to see everything is as it was minutes ago, before this man decided Liam was someone he wanted to talk to. The lounge is still a little too dark, a little too loud – but it’s not quite as grating as before, and the laughter of that group of girls doesn’t seem so exhausting anymore.

“Liam.” he says, his own eyes flicking back to search the handsome face of the stranger who drank his disgusting Coke. Those dimples just won’t leave, and Liam finds himself staring at them as they settle into flushed cheeks, like this man just ran for ten minutes before dropping into that bean bag. Liam shifts in his own, the pellets making a brash sound between them.

“Harry,” this man – Harry – says, “I’m Harry,” he pauses, and his grin gets even wider, straight, white teeth flashing, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Liam.”

It’s like by sharing their names they decided on something. Liam’s not entirely sure what it is; but Harry’s knee starts touching Liam’s, and his hands flit about wildly as he talks, speaking of he and his sister travelling Spain the previous year – of how he lives in Australia now, and isn’t the world the most fascinating thing? How they’re all so connected but also so different, so disjointed?

Liam can hardly keep up, but there’s a thrum in his veins as Harry rests a wrist on top of his knee and leaves it there, burning, against Liam’s heated skin. Liam feels goosebumps rush up his arms; he holds back a shiver and sculls the remains of his Coke to keep himself from feeling much more. Harry’s eyes are a little glassy, but he’s not high – not like Liam’s seen people get over the past few nights. He’s so passionate, so _alive._

It’s contagious; it makes Liam’s heart beat double time, makes his skin tingle and fizz like his too warm Coke; the way Harry’s shoulders lean in more and more as the hours pass, and the way he seems enraptured when Liam speaks of what he’s done up until now. It’s all so far removed from his thoughts earlier that it’s like Liam tripped into another world. A world where people like Harry exist, and make their way over to Liam, and decide to comment on his drink choice and then his outfit choice, and then ask him back to his room with an expression on his face wholly open. Liam flushes but he stands with Harry anyway, and the look they share exacerbates that tremble in Liam’s hands, that jittery feeling he hasn’t been able to get rid of.

Harry’s in a private room, which surprises him – but he doesn’t have the capacity to say much about it when Harry turns and pulls him in, hands at Liam’s waist shoving up his t-shirt, palms cradling his hips like Liam’s something delicate, something to be taken care of and not absolutely devoured like Liam sort of hopes Harry’s thinking. 

“You’re very lovely,” Harry murmurs, and when his lips land on his, Liam sucks in a harsh breath, opening his mouth and licking into Harry because suddenly everything’s on fire. He feels sweaty, like he just got back from the humid heat outside and hasn’t been sitting in front of a fan for hours. He pushes a hand into Harry’s hair, relishing in the moan when his fingers get caught in a tangle. Harry’s palms push into Liam’s hips, and his fingers claw in and this is what Liam wanted, he realises – this is what he needed when Harry took that first gulp of luke warm soft drink. It’s hot, and it’s debauched, and Liam yanks off Harry’s t-shirt with an urgency that surprises even himself. Harry grins at him, dragging his blunt nails across Liam until he makes his way to his navel and unbuttons his shorts, shoving them down as he bites at Liam’s jaw.

He can hear himself panting into the dark of the room – they didn’t even have time to turn the lights on, the full moon illuminating them instead. It makes everything feel a little like a dream, but something incredibly vivid and not one that’ll disappear into wisps of forgotten flashes of skin and pleasure when Liam wakes.

Liam can’t wait any longer and so he turns them, pushing Harry against the door as he drops to his knees, tugging at Harry’s stupidly tight jeans.

Harry hisses as Liam breathes over him, hot and moist, his left hand rubbing over Harry’s quickly hardening dick as jeans bunch at Harry’s ankles.

Liam accidentally snaps the waistband of Harry’s briefs against his thigh as he pulls at them, and then Harry’s hands are buried deep in Liam’s hair, the underside of his jaw and his long throat all Liam can see from his position. His mouth is open and his eyes are squeezed shut as Liam manages to undress him completely. 

“Oh, fuck.” he rasps out, Liam’s tongue sliding from base to tip before he sucks at the head. Harry’s hands grab at Liam’s hair more tightly, but he’s not moving him, not telling him where to go. It’s just a hold, like he’s trying to stabilise himself in that moment; like if he lets go, he’ll fly away – a balloon in the sky.

Liam sucks and licks and tastes and his jaw aches, but the heavy feel of the head on his tongue, the stretch of his lips around Harry, makes him moan, makes his eyes flutter closed as he bobs his head, Harry groaning above him.

“Liam,” he croaks out, and then Liam’s almost toppling over backward, the hands in his hair sliding away. Harry pushed him off; but looking up at him now Liam realises it wasn’t because of anything bad, like the scrape of Liam’s teeth so gentle was too painful; no, Harry’s mouth is red and swollen as if he’s been biting at it, and his chest heaves as he leans back against the door, pants and underwear at his ankles looking like something out of a particularly rushed porno.

His fingers dig into Liam’s shoulders and then pull. Liam can only follow, his chest landing heavily against Harry’s before Harry is crushing their lips together, swallowing down anything Liam might have said, any question he might have posed about why Harry stopped him at all. Harry licks into Liam’s mouth readily enough that surely he can taste himself – the pre-come Liam licked up and swallowed down, his brain forgetting anything about protection. It nags at him now, and so Liam pulls Harry to him, stumbling back to the bed as Harry steps out of his clothes and joins him. He’s got a hand on Liam’s face, guiding the movement of his jaw so that Liam’s shivering at every swipe of Harry against the roof of his mouth, at the way their noses are squashed against each other’s cheeks. Liam’s skin feels like a livewire, exposed and ready to spark at the slightest disturbance.

The room’s small, the bed a double but managing to fit into the space. Liam feels too big for the room, like if he sits up his head will touch the ceiling. At first, he thinks that might be the case – but when he does sit up, Harry refusing to leave his lips, he realises it’s just the way Harry’s making him feel. Liam’s so very aware of his limbs, of the way his skin stretches around bone and muscle and a layer of fat; he’s so very aware of the slide of Harry’s dick against Liam’s briefs, of the damp feel of the cotton against Liam’s own cock.

Harry’s wide palms slide up Liam’s back, his shoulders hunched into Liam until Liam’s t-shirt is bunched around his neck and he has no choice but to whip it off so fast there’s barely a second between the touches of their lips.

He’s pushed back down again, his head thumping into the soft pillow beneath him as Harry’s lips drag down his neck. He bites just above Liam’s nipples before licking his way down, lashes looking sinfully dark in the moonlight as he looks up through them at Liam. 

He’s pulling Liam’s briefs down when Liam stops him, a hand circling Harry’s wrist tightly.

“You’ve got a condom, yeah?” Liam whispers into the dark. Harry stares at him for a moment before moving up, his kiss the softest it’s ever been as he pulls back to stare into Liam’s eyes.

“I’m clean,” he murmurs, kissing him again. Liam’s heart clenches suddenly, painful and unexpected. The kiss feels like more than the heat of the night, like more than just a holiday anecdote Liam might tell in five years – of the insanely hot British guy he took to bed (or that took _him_ to bed). He struggles with the concept as Harry kisses him again, small smile on his face when he lingers, his nose brushing against Liam’s in the facsimile of a tease. “You are, too, right?”

Liam sees the way Harry’s pupils are blown, the moonlight glinting off his irises to make them seem more blue than green. Harry’s chewing at his bottom lip, his left hand still at Liam’s waistband as his right rubs a thumb under Liam’s left eye. When his lip is free, he smiles something small and heart-wrenching and Liam realises in that moment that Harry would do anything, probably. He’d fuck Liam with nothing between them, if Liam asked. He’d let Liam hold him down and eat him out for hours, if Liam procured the handcuffs. 

It’s an addictive feeling, and Liam experiences a strange sort of power surge through his veins, his blood heating up with every pump of his heart. 

The most addictive feeling of all, though, is knowing all of this – knowing that Harry would let Liam make him come not once but twice, one after the other; knowing that Harry would push Liam down onto his cock if Liam asked – it’s Liam knowing all of this and realising that he won’t do it. Not now, maybe not ever. It’s simply the possibility alone that has Liam’s dick twitching, that has him nodding and kissing Harry like they’re lovers and not strangers. Harry’s trusting him, and Liam’s hands shake even worse at that.

Harry slides down Liam’s body again, and by the time he reaches Liam’s leaking head, the briefs are gone and he’s got a hand rubbing at Liam’s base, grazing over his balls and making Liam’s hips jerk up uncontrollably.

“S’alright,” Harry slurs as he pets at Liam’s hips clumsily, eyes locked onto his dick as another bout of pre-come dribbles out, “M’gonna make you feel,”

Liam doesn’t know whether Harry finished that sentence, or whether he got distracted; but he finds himself unable to give it much more thought as wet heat envelops him. He groans, long and loud, breath stuttering in his chest as Harry’s hand pushes his hips into the mattress, locking them in place.

He cranes his neck down to look at the sight, and Harry’s lips split around Liam is one of the most obscene things he’s ever seen; that Harry, this person who’s so sure and knowing and as familiar as Liam’s daily English Breakfast, can’t talk around him, his eyes a little wet at the girth of Liam–

“Fuck,” Liam chokes out, orgasm rushing at him, “Shit. _Harry–_ ” His hips jerk up as Harry gives a hard pull and then he’s coming, Harry stroking him through it as he swallows Liam down, his throat tight and hot.

“Liam,” Harry breathes barely a minute later, and he’s sitting up now, wiping at his mouth, his eyes wide. Liam looks down, sees he’s got a hand on his own dick. “Liam, God. Can I please come on you? Please? Fuck, _please–_ ”

Liam drags him in, smashing their lips together and entwining their fingers, both of their hands moving up and down on Harry for barely five strokes until he comes, hot and messy all over Liam’s abs and chest. Liam kisses him through it as Harry trembles, the quietest of whines coming from his throat. 

He’s still trembling as he licks at Liam, cleaning him up, eyes dark and curls framing his face like he’s the subject of a Renaissance masterpiece. Liam thinks that image will be burned into his brain forever – of Harry’s quivering hands clutching at Liam’s hips, of his pink tongue lapping at his own come, licking it off of Liam’s chest as Liam’s dick gives a valiant twitch at the sight.

“ _Christ,_ ” Liam mutters, pulling Harry up with a hand in his hair and devouring his mouth, pushing their hips together even though it’s way too soon for anything but a languid snog and wandering hands.

“Let’s go out,” murmurs Harry however many minutes later, his lips brushing Liam’s. He presses down again, pulling back just as quickly to speak again, “Let’s go have some drinks; let’s go to a bar or something.”

The soft, fuzzy glow of Liam’s post-orgasm haze dulls and trepidation begins to seep in, his hands rearranging Harry’s curls because he doesn’t really know what else he should be doing or saying right now, not when Harry’s urging him to go out, to maybe separate and talk to other people. There’s a part of Liam that knew it would happen, but maybe not so soon. Couldn’t he have had a few more hours? Lying next to Harry, playing with his wide hands and tangling their fingers together, brushing through his curls with the utmost care and reverence?

“Yeah?” Liam prompts quietly as Harry’s eyes dart between his own. His partner for the evening smiles, dimples returning and, well, Liam’s a little hopeless to it. He tells himself he’s allowed to be – he’s on holiday. A holiday where he doesn’t have to be Liam, boring data entry worker. A holiday where he can shag handsome blokes and not feel like a dateless loser for it. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, and he kisses Liam long and slow, then, like he’s trying to convince him with his lips, like they didn’t just meet and have sex but instead like this is what they do, like this is _them._

It’s addicting, this. Like he realised before; and soon enough Harry’s pulling him through the crowded streets of São Paulo, Brazilians dancing around them as bars spread out onto the streets, music thumping and drinks flowing. Harry’s dried come is still stuck to parts of Liam, and he feels acutely the stale trail of Harry’s own attempts to clean up. He feels used, and he feels unrestrained, and Liam lets Harry’s hands tug him into some place that’s dark, lights flashing, generic club music pounding to the tempo of Liam’s pulse.

Liam thinks – _this is it; this is where I lose him._ But then Harry’s against him amongst the throng of bodies, and he’s got a hand on Liam’s neck and another on his hip, pinching at the skin just above the bone. He’s laughing, head thrown back, and the lights make his skin glisten – he’s still sweaty from earlier, and his lips look a dark, blood red in the flickering lasers of this club.

Liam thinks – _if I can have this for a few hours more,_ bringing his hands up to pull Harry’s head to his, licking into his mouth like he’s trying to reach something; a taste, or a feeling, maybe. He thinks; _if I can have this for a few hours more, I’ll bloody well take it._

What do they call them? Fever dreams, Liam thinks. Where every moment seems slower than the last, then quicker, then like nothing at all. The strobe of the club strikes Harry every other millisecond, and the jerky way in which Liam’s mind, slowly becoming more alcohol-addled, registers Harry as he moves – hips grinding against Liam’s, head swinging from side to side, his hands shoved up under Liam’s shirt; it all feels as if Liam is in a trance, a delusion. Any minute now he’s going to wake to the loud beeping of his alarm, the cold London rain spitting against his bedroom window.

But he doesn’t wake – not when Harry pushes him against the wall outside the toilets and asks Liam whether he’ll fuck him; not when Harry nearly drops to his knees for another blowjob but is stopped by Liam’s blurry hands and incredulous laughter; not when Harry joins him, grinning, chuckles echoing in the hallway. He doesn’t wake when Harry takes a shot off of Liam’s collarbone near the bar, sucking at his neck straight after; and he doesn’t wake as Harry pulls a girl between them on the dance floor – a girl that’s all too happy to lean back against Liam as Harry’s hips grind into hers. She’s like an afterthought, though, even if Liam’s hands are on her waist – because Harry’s kissing him, and then he’s leaning his forehead into Liam’s and panting heavily against his cheek.

Liam is very much awake when the girl squeezes out from between them and Liam pulls Harry into him, burying his face into his damp curls as they sway on the dance floor, some sort of obnoxious Skrillex tune ringing in their ears.

When they’re stumbling up the stairs to their rooms what must be many hours later, Harry snogs him on one of the landings for a good ten minutes; and then he’s pulling him into the fourth floor hallway even though Liam’s on the sixth. He unlocks his room and he’s pushing Liam onto his bed and they strip because they’re sweaty and disgusting and the communal bathrooms probably shouldn’t be explored at this time of night – or early morning. Harry buries his face into Liam’s shoulder, gives it a playful bite that’ll bruise along with all the other hickeys he’s received, and then they both fall asleep; exhausted and spent and together.

 

***

 

There’s someone shouting in the hall when Liam wakes, limbs jerking at their volume. He squints in the bright daylight, surprised that didn’t wake him when he’s usually such a light sleeper. He feels wrung out, and a pleasant breeze drifts over his heated skin. He cranes his neck up to see the window by the bed open, and then he realises he’s not in his cramped single bed in an eight person dorm. No – he’s in a private room, and a heavy arm rests over him. Liam gets his hands underneath him and pushes his torso up from the bed. The arm slides down his back to rest at the base of his spine, and Liam shivers. He’s naked. And when he turns his head to the left to get a look, he sees Harry’s naked as well, mouth open and ugly in sleep.

Liam tries not to laugh as he twists, lying back down on his back with Harry’s arm resting above his slowly hardening dick.

He sighs, scrubbing at his face, palms scraping against his slight stubble. He scratches at his hard stomach, and that memory he vowed never to forget – Harry’s eyes blown through dark lashes, dragging his tongue across Liam’s abs to lick up his own come – assaults him like a splash of water to the face.

 _Fuck,_ Liam thinks to himself, and then Harry’s arm shifts down. He turns his head to the right and sees Harry trying not to grin, biting at his lip.

“You’re awake.” Liam says, and he sounds loud in the room even if that person is still yelling outside in what sounds like French. Harry’s lids open and his grin finally breaks free. He sits up, energetic, pulling at Liam in a way that actually makes _his_ own body slide across the sheets, his torso hot against Liam’s.

He’s not hungover, and neither is Liam – they had drinks, sure, but Liam knew his limit. And it seems Harry doesn’t need to get pissed to hang all over Liam, to promise him a fuck outside a club bathroom. Liam shudders at the thought, skin prickling in anticipation even if he knows with the dawn of a new day that he’s not likely to be able to touch Harry like that again. That he might not even allow himself – Harry’s intoxicating in a way that would see Liam drown in him at a moment’s notice, drunk and dizzy and hooked on the feel of Harry against him, hard and desperate.

He inwardly shakes himself of those thoughts as Harry bites at his shoulder, grin turning cheeky as he flicks his curls out of his face. They’re not quite long enough to go past his shoulders, but they’re long enough to brush them. Liam’s enamoured by their feel, soft and bouncy, like Harry wouldn’t be Harry without them. He has the strange, idle thought that even if Harry had short hair, he’d somehow transform it into a style that resembled him: warm, and adventurous. Liam’s heart gives a worrying throb at the idea alone.

Harry’s hand slides across Liam’s navel, and Liam hitches a breath as Harry rests his chin on Liam’s arm, his hand moving down underneath the white, rumpled sheets; his grin knowing and playful.

“What’re you up to today, Liam?” he questions casually as he cups Liam underneath the sheets. Liam bites at his lip, his hips shifting up.

“I–” Liam shoots Harry a look, hoping to convey how unfair this all is considering Liam’s right arm is trapped between them and his left is clutching helplessly at the sheet beneath him, “Dunno.” he croaks, and groans when Harry’s hand strokes him slowly, unhurried and smug.

“Hmm,” Harry hums, letting go of Liam to slide a thigh over, kissing his way up Liam’s neck until he’s settled on top, lips pressing against each other’s, “You should spend the day with me.”

Liam’s chest tightens, something in his throat fluttering and making him want to cough and splutter. Instead, he groans as Harry grinds down into his lap, his arse pushing down on his cock before moving far enough forward that the sheets fall away and he’s rocking back into Liam instead.

“Should I?” Liam whispers against Harry’s lips, looking at the light flush in his cheeks, brushing a hand over his pink lips and dragging nails across Harry’s arse when he bites at the pad of Liam’s thumb.

“Definitely,” Harry confirms, and he rocks into Liam again, moving up so Liam’s still against the pillows, whereas Harry’s back is straight and his hands are pushing down on Liam’s chest for leverage, “Got things to do, though.” He’s breathing heavy, and Liam sees his cock thicken, balls looking tight and aching. “We can’t stay in bed all day.” 

“Of course,” Liam grits out, eyes closing as a burning builds under his navel, his dick feeling impossibly hard as it slides between Harry’s arse cheeks, a poor imitation of what might actually happen. That thought – of Harry around him, clenching, his mouth open in a quiet moan – sends him over, and by the time Liam’s blinking himself back into the room, Harry’s hunched, hand on his dick rough and looking on the wrong side of painful. Liam pushes up, abs shivering, and adds his own. Harry’s spilling over them both in barely a minute, sticky and hot, his brow resting against Liam’s shoulder as he breathes through it.

Liam wipes his hand on the sheets before bringing both of them up to frame Harry’s face, moving him so Liam can press their lips together.

“Quite the wake up.” he murmurs, their noses brushing. Harry huffs out a laugh, and there’s a short pause before he’s suddenly pecking Liam on the lips and hopping off of him, dragging the sheets across his groin and navel to get clean before he rummages through his things, naked as ever. 

“Shower,” he throws over his shoulder through his brown curls, “Then you and I are goin’ t’ explore, Liam.”

Liam ignores the nerves that break out in his gut, squashing them until he feels only a mild, disconnected panic at the idea of spending the day with Harry – a day where they have to talk about more than the menial things fellow travellers talk about. Liam imagines Harry’s growing irritation with him, his exasperation at Liam’s insistence they spend a bit longer somewhere, that they look up the closing times of places so they don’t miss out. Harry seems like someone who walks around, decides everything in the moment, and doesn’t get bothered if it’s not what he imagined, or if he can’t get there in time.

The envy is pushed aside as Harry goes to leave, towel around his waist and clothes in his hands. Liam can’t help himself.

“Shoes,” he blurts out, and Harry turns to him, stopping on his way out, “Shoes, Haz. For the showers.” 

Harry walks back over, and he leans down so quickly to cradle Liam’s face and kiss him that Liam can’t do anything but sit there and take it, Harry patting his cheek softly before he pulls away and shoves his feet into some sandals.

“Meet you in the lounge, Liam!” He calls out over his shoulder, and Liam’s left naked on the bed, come uncomfortable on his thighs and groin. He pulls a face, hesitates only a moment before wiping himself roughly with the end of the sheet and pulling his clothes back on. He finds his room key in his wallet, and he makes his way up two flights of stairs to his dorm, averting his eyes as he glimpses a girl dressing next to one of the other bunks. He grabs his shower things, changes out his shoes to flip flops, and spends the next fifteen minutes under the water getting the come out of the hair around his navel, wrinkling his nose as he scrubs himself down with soap. He dresses quickly in a different pair of shorts and a white vest, spraying on a liberal amount of deodorant before dumping his stuff back in his bag. He cleans his teeth quickly so he can secure all his belongings. He pockets his wallet, makes sure his water and maps and all that are in his backpack before zipping it up, and then makes his way downstairs to the lounge, stomach rumbling.

Liam’s trying to charge his phone up on his spare power bank and shovelling toast into his mouth when Harry plops down next to him. He’s got a bowl of cereal, and he smiles at him, cheeks bulging, before pulling the phone away from Liam and fixing it for him.

“Thanks,” Liam tells him, and Harry smiles, this time without any food in his mouth. He sees Harry pull out his own phone, tap a few things, before shoving it back into his pocket. He’s foregone the jeans today – it’s sweltering now that Liam has clothes on – and instead he’s got these awkward khaki coloured shorts on, rolled at the cuff. His Vans are dirty and old, but his sunglasses look expensive. He’s wearing a grey t-shirt that looks aged and threadbare.

Nothing about the outfit should work, but... well, it’s Harry. And Liam’s realising that Harry can do a lot of things Liam wouldn’t expect to work out, but they do just that.

“So, I was thinking,” Harry starts, leaning in so his right bicep is brushing Liam’s left, “There’re a couple of markets that could be interesting. Absolutely amazing graffiti art we have to see. And then there’s this hike – you’re into that, yeah? – and then I thought there was this really pretty botanical garden we could go to.” He pushes away his empty bowl and turns his head to Liam with a smile on his face.

It’s not that Liam... well, actually, it’s exactly that Liam thought Harry’d suggest one place and then maybe ditch him. Like, a test – he’d spend an hour or two with him and then decide he’d rather be off with someone else; maybe that group of girls from last night, who are waving over at him now. Harry waves back, but turns again to Liam with an expectant look on his face.

Who is Liam to deny him? When Liam himself wants to spend as long as he can with Harry, until Harry bores of him and says his goodbyes? Liam may as well get the most out of it, this energy that Harry has. He feels it under his skin, still, and he just wants to hold on to it a little while longer. 

“Sounds brilliant.” says Liam, and Harry grins at him. He snatches the leftover crust from Liam’s plate and shoves it in his mouth, and Liam tamps down a fond smile.

The markets they end up in are interesting – local wares and art, the kind of cultural experience Liam’s felt has been lacking from his past week in São Paulo. Admittedly, he probably hasn’t tried hard enough, and the guilt at wasting some of his holiday rears its ugly head as Harry pulls him close, enthusing about some sort of woodwork that Liam knows he won’t be able to take back home, no matter how much he might want it.

“I think you’ll love this, Liam,” Harry says, putting some rolled up pieces of art in his own backpack before shouldering it once more and pulling Liam along, arm around his shoulders. Liam tries not to let his cheeks heat up at his close proximity. “S’cool, this one. It’s an alley of graffiti. Call it Batman Alley.”

“Batman?” Liam perks up, swivelling his head to stare at Harry.

“What?” Harry grins, eyes roving over Liam’s face, “You like comics?”

“Love them,” Liam says, feeling that passion run through him at the reminder, “D’you think this’ll be, like, comic graffiti?”

Harry frowns, and Liam wraps a hand around his waist, squeezing before letting go completely. Harry looks down at his feet, small smile on his face as he looks back up at Liam. “Not sure. Maybe.”

It’s not comic book inspired at all, but Liam – who’s probably not a connoisseur of fine art – can admit it’s pretty incredible. It’s so colourful, and on a hot day like it is today, the sun shines on the walls and the brick and brings the art to life, a technicolour of words and made up monsters. Butterflies glimmer in the light, and Liam feels like this can hardly be called graffiti. If he was a rich popstar or something, he’d commission this kind of art for sure.

“Take a photo of me, Liam,” Harry demands, and he strikes an absurd pose in front of a man crouching next to a patterned carpet. He looks like he’s lying on it, and Liam snaps it before he can even think about how unrealistic it all looks. Liam takes more – Harry pretending to be underwater next to a kid riding a bear in the sea; Harry roaring at some sort of giant climbing out of a clock face. It’s ridiculous, and Liam finds himself laughing, hiding his face in his elbow when he feels it go too wide, too dorky. His eyes are crinkling, he knows, and he looks away to hide it, a little embarrassed at how much fun he’s having. Harry appears, though, and he pecks Liam’s cheek before ushering him over to one of the walls, urging him to pose.

They spend a good half an hour there, even if it’s small, before Liam suggests lunch. They sit down at one of the cheaper restaurants in the area, and Harry insists on sharing a barbecue meat plate with a huge salad on the side, his ankles knocking into Liam’s under the table. Liam hooks his foot around Harry’s legs to get him to stop, and feels his stomach flutter when Harry smiles bashfully into his glass of water at the action. 

Liam can’t really believe it, in a way – the fact that Harry’s pushing him out the door once they’ve finished eating and split the bill, talking animatedly about the hike they’re about to go on. As Liam buys some more water to combat the heat of the day, he realises that maybe Harry isn’t so worried about spending time with Liam. Maybe, just maybe, Liam can enjoy this for what it is. The thought sits heavy in his chest, his usual worry nagging at him – but he pushes it away the best he can as Harry grins at him from across the aisle of this little mini mart they’ve stopped in. If Harry looks that happy, then Liam will try to match him. They’ll have a nice day together, and maybe Liam can kiss him a few more times before they separate. That’d be nice, Liam thinks. That’d be really nice.

They grab a taxi once they get off the metro at Tucuruvi Station, Liam’s broken Portuguese better than Harry’s garbled attempts.

“Downloaded Duolingo the week before I got here.” Liam explains in the backseat with a shrug.

“Of course you did, Liam.” Harry sighs out, but the smile on his face betrays his true feelings, like he’s kind of in awe of him. Liam just hopes that’s a good kind of awe, and not shock that Liam is such a worrywart.

Once they’re dropped off at the entrance to the Parque Estadual da Cantareira, they start their way up the Estrada da Chapada to get to the first photo opportunity at Pedra Grande. It’s not so much a hike as a slow incline – nothing to get worked up about considering their fitness. Liam’s a regular runner back home, and Harry’s shown he’s energetic enough for such a thing, his lean limbs and toned chest evidence Liam would be willing to explore further.

It doesn’t take them long to get to Pedra Grande, the two of them having overtaken some of the slower tourists as they made their way up the trail. Harry sprawls himself over part of the large rock everyone’s on, attracting the stares of some of the people already there.

“Liam,” he huffs out, and Liam sees the sweat darkening his t-shirt at the collar and under his arms. It’s hot, so Liam’s definitely feeling it, too; his own vest is getting too damp with sweat for comfort. He sculls some water, passing his bottle over to his companion when he shows no inclination to grab his own from his pack. Harry sits up and gulps it down greedily, spilling some of it down his shirt. He wipes his mouth on his collar and passes it back to Liam once he’s sat down, and by the time Liam’s turned back, the people in front of them are getting up to leave and Harry’s brought his legs up, arms hugging them to his chest. He looks sweaty and a little tired, but he seems so at ease sitting there on the rock next to Liam. He’s staring out at São Paulo below them, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses in the glaring sun, and Liam’s breath catches just a little bit.

Harry scoots closer despite the heat, and he pushes his sunglasses into his hair before he leans his head on his knees to look at Liam. Liam smiles at him, a warmth blooming in his chest that has nothing to do with the heat of the spring day. Harry’s face transforms with his wide grin, his dimples like intricate carvings in his cheeks. He looks so young when he does that, and Liam realises he doesn’t even know how old Harry is – even if he knows he has a cat called Dusty that he left back in England, and a sister called Gemma who actually lives in London, too. Even if he knows that Harry works as a freelance photographer in his spare time, but is some sort of assistant to a magazine editor to pay the bills.

“How old are you, Haz?” Liam asks, and hopes no one else heard. It sounds a bit shady, he realises, without the context of the past twenty-four hours.

“Twenty-two, Liam,” Harry says, and his right hand releases from his knee and pulls at Liam’s arm, thumb rubbing against the hairs and making them stick up comically. “And you?”

“A year older,” Liam confirms, and for some reason that makes Harry waggle his eyebrows.

“Bit of a cradle robber, you are.” He teases, and Liam pulls his arm away in his shock, spluttering as Harry gives a great big cackle, biting his lip when it comes out louder than he intended.

“Harry!” Liam scowls, pushing himself off the ground, “That’s– no. You’re ridic– I can’t _believe–_ ” 

Harry pulls at him – he’s stood now, too – and shoves his face into Liam’s neck as if that’ll get him to stop talking. It does – but the fact that Harry knew to do that is sort of strange, Liam thinks. He rests his hands on Harry’s hips anyway, absently caressing them through his t-shirt.

“I’m joking, Liam,” Harry mumbles, and he pulls back just far enough to give Liam a short kiss, “Now, come on. I want a picture!” He grabs his bag from his feet and slings it over his shoulders. Liam does the same, chewing the inside of his cheek as Harry approaches two American girls who look to be maybe a little older than them.

Harry gestures over his shoulder at Liam with his thumb, and Liam gives a pathetic sort of wave as one of the girls peers around him, smiling. When he comes back over, the two of them are following close behind.

“A picture for a picture, Liam.” Harry states dramatically, and Liam scrunches up his nose in an attempt to stop his smile from breaking out on his face – Liam gets the sense he’d indulge Harry ‘til the world’s end if he didn’t exert some modicum of self-discipline. 

They manoeuvre their way so that the city is behind them, the sun shining on their faces. Harry refuses to put his sunglasses back on, even when one of the girls tells him he keeps squinting into the lens.

“But then Mum and Gems won’t see how happy I am.” Harry says, and Liam wants to slap him upside the head.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Liam tells him, trying not to get too grumpy, “Of course they’ll know.”

Harry looks considering for a moment before he places the glasses on his nose. He leans in at the last second, his lips to Liam’s smiling cheek as the photo’s taken. 

“That was a really nice one,” The girl taking the photo – Tessa – says, “Definitely keep it.”

“Alright,” Liam says loudly, trying to stop her from continuing on and embarrassing him, making every other photo look like Liam’s been badly sunburnt in the face due to the flaming blush he’d likely have, “One more, then we’ll take some of you.”

Liam pulls Harry close this time, his fingers digging into his waist in some kind of warning before Tessa takes another photo – and this will be one Liam can send to Zayn without too many questions.

The girls take better photos than them, and Harry chats to them for a minute or two as Liam takes in the view before bidding them good luck on the rest of their holiday.

“Good luck?” Liam questions as they begin the next part of their hike, “What for?”

“Just spreading some love, Liam,” Harry says, smirk on his face, “You know, some luck for the road. Hope they run into some fit British boys and have their way with them.”

“Ha-ha,” Liam intones, rolling his eyes with a smile as Harry pinches his side.

 _Menace,_ Liam thinks fondly, and then quickly pushes away those feelings. It’ll be over in a few hours, he needs to remember. Then Liam will have three weeks left in which to fill his days, trying not to think of Harry’s breath against his lips.

The rest of the hike up to Lago das Carpas passes in comfortable silence, Harry grinning over at him every now and then, making Liam feel warmer under the collar than he should. His ribs feel achy and too small, like his organs will bust out of them soon enough and Liam will be left explaining in broken Portuguese exactly how and why that happened.

“This is a campsite, Haz,” Liam states dryly as they reach their destination, a few of the people who’d walked up with them spreading out to take pictures, “I thought there’d be another view.”

“You’re saying this isn’t a view, then?” Harry remarks, sunglasses on his nose obscuring his eyes from view as he looks around, a placid lake before them. It’s hot and muggy, and Liam can hear the mosquitoes buzzing around them. Somehow, though, his eyes can’t take in anything but the person next to him. The grey t-shirt is damp with sweat all over, and his Vans look even more worn than they did at the start of the day. He’s a vision, he is, and Liam just smiles in reply to the question, Harry raising his eyebrows at him from underneath those sunglasses.

They take some photos, Harry’s large hand a brand on the small of Liam’s back.

“What’s next?” Liam huffs out as they descend the hill much more quickly than they ascended it.

“It’s a surprise, Liam,” teases Harry, pulling Liam into him and nudging his cheek with his nose, “Let me woo you.” 

Liam fights down a blush, rolling his eyes.

“You’re barking, Harry,” he says instead, smiling, “S’like you can’t remember the last twenty four hours.”

“Oh, I remember.” Harry says blandly, but he grins at Liam’s unavoidable stutter, red-cheeked and trying not to recall too much for fear of having to adjust himself in his shorts in front of twenty-something tourists.

It’s nearing five o’clock by the time they reach the bottom, and Harry hails a taxi before Liam can complain. He’s not exactly rolling in it, is he?

“Just this once,” Harry tells him as they dump their backpacks at their feet, the two of them in the back seat, “Besides, you can’t tell me this is as expensive as London?”

It’s not. In fact, it’s a lot cheaper than Liam anticipated, especially with the exchange rate. He’ll actually have some substantial savings to come home to, which makes him worry a little less. 

Liam has no clue where they’re going, but as they seem to get closer to their destination, streets become more familiar.

“Haz,” Liam sighs out when Harry pays the full fare, waving him off as they thank the driver, “Come on.”

“I told you,” Harry says, and his expression is soft as he gazes at him. He leans in, gives him a light kiss, “Wine and dine, Liam.” 

He’s true to his word, at least – they grab some snack foods from a local shop and Harry buys a cheap bottle of red with a wink – and they end up in a small little park area, the two of them sitting on the grass together as people bustle around them. 

Harry’s sitting close, almost leaning in to him, and Liam’s helpless to bring his arm around his shoulder, hand hanging limply before Harry reaches up with his right to hold it, thumb grazing back and forth over Liam’s sensitive palm.

“I do like a picnic,” Liam says, even if it’s been years since he last had one, likely with his family.

They spend an hour picking at the food – Harry’s bought an array of chocolates, some fruit, dried snacks, and sandwiches. It’s a discount smorgasbord; a dinner he’d probably have at home, maybe. But somehow Harry’s made the local Baurus a five star meal.

His lips are a little purple from the wine, his cheeks flushed in the heat as he sits, turned toward Liam with his legs crossed. He’s playing with Liam’s hand in his lap, entwining and twisting their fingers as Liam gazes out at the city before them, the small crowd of people who are also waiting. It’s a sunset, Liam realises, and his heart feels thick and big and clunky in his chest. He can’t ignore it; not like he wants to. 

The sky erupts into pinks and oranges and yellows and even some purples, soon enough. Harry shifts closer, and then he’s got his head on Liam’s shoulder, sunglasses buried in his greasy curls. Their skin’s tacky with dried sweat, their shorts dirty and their shoes falling apart. Liam feels exhausted, his skin a little more tanned today than it was yesterday. He could probably collapse into his bunk and pass out ‘til noon tomorrow; and yet, all Liam wants to do is stay here, in this moment, for as long as Harry will allow it. The gentle weight of Harry’s hand in his, the soft press of his lips to Liam’s exposed collarbone, and the remnants of the Brazilian chocolate truffles they scoffed down cast the darkening evening sky in a new light.

Liam doesn’t think he’ll ever look at sunsets the same way again – at least not without remembering Harry tucked into his side, and the promise of more when Harry’s left hand settled high up on Liam’s thigh. 

“You like music, yeah?” Harry murmurs, looking up at Liam through heavy lashes. People are dispersing now, the sunset well and truly over as the night encases them, stars twinkling along with city lights. Their picnic is in ruins around them, but Liam doesn’t care one bit.

“Yeah,” Liam croaks, squeezing the hand that’s in his, “‘Course.” 

Harry takes him to a jazz club. A jazz club that’s in a parking garage.

“This is insane.” Liam exclaims over the music once they arrive, the stage so small that the five musicians are cramped, huge smiles on their faces.

“I know,” Harry calls out in response, his eyes glittering in the light of the club, “Come on, let’s have a drink.”

They order a jug of sangria for the both of them, and Liam eats the pieces of orange at Harry’s insistence. They tuck into a black bean stew together, mouths burning at the spice as they watch the locals play, music loud and lively.

They talk and they eat and they listen and they drink. Harry tells Liam about how he has mates back home who’re majoring in sound design, and Liam tells Harry about how he went to try out for _The X-Factor_ once, and Harry’s face brightens.

“You should sing for me,” Harry breathes, pushing closer so they’re almost breathing the same air. His cheeks are quite flushed now, and Liam acknowledges he’s feeling a little loose himself, but not unpleasant. Not uncontrollably dizzy. “ _God,_ you really should sing for me.”

“ _Haz,_ ” Liam warns him, turning his face away. Harry pulls him back, dimples mesmerising. “Not now.”

“Later, then,” Harry says, and one of his hands slides down to claw into Liam’s thigh. The crowded, dimly lit club suddenly feels humid and suffocating – in that way where all Liam can think about is getting a hand on himself, tugging slowly as the heat coalesces around him, sweat dripping down his chest.

They’re snogging thoroughly by the time they stumble through the door of Harry’s private room, almost tripping over clothes strewn about. Harry scrunches his nose at the mess, and Liam feels his heart skip just once before he’s licking into him again, grinding their hips together slow and sensual with that muggy feeling. His skin feels like it’s on fire, even once they both start undressing. It’s so hot, so warm, and the air sits heavy on the two of them.

Harry's hands flit about like the little birds on his chest have come alive, and Liam feels his heart start to sink ever so slowly with the realisation that he’ll likely be gone in twelve or so hours, off to another destination or, even worse, into another’s arms. Liam shudders, and Harry moans in response, unable to tell that Liam’s torn between making the most of this moment, and being consumed by the thought of losing it. 

“Liam,” Harry breathes out against the side of his face, forehead pushing into Liam’s left temple like he can’t bear for their skin to separate. His eyes flutter open, and the green looks both darker and clearer up close. Liam finds himself lost in them, his own eyes flicking back and forth between Harry’s and trying to memorise the transition of colour in his irises; like if he stares hard enough and long enough the exact gradient won’t ever leave him, etched into his retinas and even his DNA as if they’re his own dull, brown eyes. The ones he sees in the mirror every day. God, Liam would love to look into Harry’s every morning; watch the crinkles form by his eyes as he smiles at Liam, soft and newly woken and utterly at home against white sheets. He imagines pushing Harry’s curls away from his face, brushing the pad of his thumb over his brow, chuckling at the playful frown he’d get in return. He sees it so clearly, and it’s only Harry’s voice that pulls him back in, that makes him blink away that unattainable vision.

“Where did you go?” Harry murmurs, large hand cradling the side of Liam’s face. Liam smiles, but it’s small and maybe a little sad – he hopes Harry won’t notice. 

“Nowhere,” Liam whispers, leaning forward to kiss Harry sweet and a little too sour for his own tastes – but then again, Harry’s not caught up in ‘could be’s, “Just a dream.”

“Dreams’re funny, aren’t they?” Harry muses as Liam’s lips trail down his neck, tongue flicking out to lick and suck at his pulse point. His chest rattles with his hitched breaths, and Liam hears rather than sees his smile, “I had one where I was a snake once. Bit weird.”

Liam huffs out a laugh against his neck, wondering how on Earth a person like Harry Styles ever came to be. 

“It was all slither-y,” he continues, hissing ironically when Liam nips at the juncture of neck and shoulder, “Felt smooth and silky.” 

“Feeling yourself, were you?” asks Liam, because Harry’s somehow made him curious. 

“Piss off,” Harry snorts, his hands coming forward to unbutton Liam’s shorts deftly, “It was completely innocent.” 

His indignant tone causes Liam to laugh, a fully belly one that makes him lean back, eyes shutting briefly in mirth. Harry’s clever fingers take advantage of the position and push at the hem of Liam’s vest and soon enough it’s off, along with Harry’s own t-shirt. The impatience returns, Harry’s blunt nails scritch-scratching at Liam’s waist, his mouth pressing into Liam’s with intent. They move back, sliding down Liam’s shorts to grab a hold of his arse. The shorts slide down Liam’s thighs with the movement, and he decides Harry needs to be a lot more naked than he is. 

By the time both of them are standing there in their briefs, all remnants of banter have disappeared. Liam feels the energy underneath Harry’s skin. His nipples have pebbled, goosebumps all up his arms despite the heat. He’s gripping Liam close, red mouth slightly parted as Liam deliberately grazes his dick. 

He gives an aborted moan, something a little breathy and high, as Liam properly grips him. His hips stutter forward, and Liam’s other hand tugs him closer still, relishing in the drag of their cocks together through the cotton, briefs getting a little damp at the contact. He feels on edge, hanging on to this night like a dropkick at their own high school reunion. He was nothing before this, and he’s not sure he’ll be anything after it. A mess, maybe. The guy Harry will remember as being too invested, too into it. Liam needs to take a step back, re-evaluate.

 _Impossible,_ he thinks as Harry sucks on his bottom lip, giving it a light nip as he pulls back. Their foreheads rest together, and Harry drags him down onto the bed once the back of his knees hit it, the two of them bouncing only slightly before Liam can’t help himself, his tongue swiping at the roof of Harry’s mouth, delighting in the long, drawn out groan of the man beneath him. 

Harry’s hands, hot and a little unsure, trail across Liam’s stomach and through the hair there to tug down his briefs, exposing him to the muggy night air. He grabs a hold of his own cock, pushing his underwear down until the waistband sits underneath his balls. It looks obscene, and his dick gives a small spurt of pre-come as Liam continues to stare, panting a little with everything he’s feeling. He needs to savour this, but all he can think about is getting a hand on Harry, on the slow slide of their dicks together, sweaty and not quite enough – but the anticipation, the burn of desire for more, arouses him more than he ever thought it could. And with that, his hips thrust forward to touch. Harry’s head is arched down to stare at the way they move. Liam’s hand comes around them, his fingers not quite reaching.

Sweat dampens the hair at Harry’s temples and his curls are wilder than ever, splayed around his head like a brown halo. Liam thinks he looks like art, lying down on his unmade bed and whining just a little, biting into his bottom lip as his head tilts back. His eyes catch Liam’s and they’re piercing, seeing right into Liam’s soul in that moment. The rest of the room fades out; the muffled laughter in the hallway, the suffocating air surrounding them, the sounds of nature through the open windows; until it’s just Harry and Liam, sweat making the glide of their skin smooth and sensual, pre-come easing the way of Liam’s hand. Harry’s joins a second later, and their fingers fumble over each other as Liam’s hips shift back and forth, the friction staggering. Liam’s breathing heavily, and the dent between Harry’s eyebrows betrays how close he is. His cheeks are flushed, his neck glistening with perspiration. Liam leans forward to kiss him, closing his eyes on the masterpiece below and imagining himself with Harry tomorrow morning – of recreating this exact movement, but instead with Harry tight all around him, hands grasping at his curls in ecstasy as they gaze at one another, lost and owned and forever changed.

His thighs burn as he comes, wet and hard, all the way up Harry’s chest. Harry shivers and comes himself, shuddering through it, hand stroking on autopilot as the two of them shake. Liam pulls away first, too sensitive and unable to catch his breath as he falls to the left of Harry, stomach and hand wet.

Harry’s head is turned to his, his eyes half-lidded, when Liam brings his hand to his face and licks up the mess. Harry’s eyes follow his tongue, and the two of them together isn’t any more pleasant than Liam remembers this activity being, but somehow with Harry’s eyes on him he doesn’t stop, not until his hand is tacky with saliva and Harry’s pupils are a little more blown. 

“God,” Harry rasps, and he cranes his neck forward to kiss him, licking at his lips like he might be able to taste the two of them there, “Come with me,” His nose rubs against Liam’s, tender and sweet. His doe eyes gaze into his, and he kisses him once more before repeating himself, “Come with me, Liam.”

“Come with you?” Liam croaks, a little confused.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Harry explains, and he nudges Liam’s nose with his again, palm on the back of Liam’s neck hot and heavy and terrifying. Liam feels his heart sink further, and his stomach does an unpleasant sort of flip. “Come with me, Liam.”

Liam’s heart can’t take this. He has to ask; he has to for his own sanity. God, he wishes, though – oh, how he wishes. 

“Where?” he whispers, and Harry grins, like he knows Liam will say yes no matter his answer.

“Just to Bolivia,” He kisses Liam again, a little longer and a little softer. “S’next door, really.” 

Liam’s eyes dart between Harry’s in thought, his heart rising from the pit of his stomach back into his chest with something akin to hope. He doesn’t dare – he shouldn’t, really. It’s not like he had the rest of his holiday planned, exactly, but he barely knows Harry. How can he commit to more than this – climaxing between sheets? He wants to, though. It’s terrible, but he wants to.

“We can buy the tickets now, if you like.” Harry suggests, and his voice has gone a little reedy, his eyes wide with something Liam can’t name.

“Okay,” Liam murmurs, and the blinding grin he receives in return is worth the tangled ball of emotion lodging itself in his throat, “Okay, let’s buy them.” 

Harry smashes their lips together, laughing all the while, before he bounces off the bed in a rush of energy, pulling his laptop from his bag – Liam needs to tell him to buy a padlock, for Christ’s sake – and sitting back down onto the bed next to him, opening it up and quickly typing in the address to a discount fare site.

Liam rests a chin on Harry’s shoulder and listens to the way his words rush together in his excitement – it’s fascinating, because Liam’s only heard Harry talk slowly, measured and sure. He feels his skin tingle a bit, like the slight beginnings of an orgasm. It’s not, though – Liam’s not that kinky – but the feelings it promises to precede are alluring all the same.

 

***

 

The days with him go by faster than Liam would like; though when he looks back on them, lying in bed with Harry sweaty and sated under his arm, they seem slow and unhurried.

Bolivia is a whirlwind. They visit the Uyuni salt flat, where Harry screams out “WILLIES!” at the top of his lungs with this huge grin on his face, childlike in his wonder as he looks over his shoulder at Liam, arms spread out and dimples flashing in the glaring sun. That night they spend the late hours up against each other, phones out of service and private cabin far away from the shared rooms. 

The Red Lagoon is next, where Liam almost stumbles into a curious flamingo, Harry hunched over in laughter at the sight. They somehow manage to get to the Isla del Sol and visit some Inca sites after that. Liam’s amazed by the ruins; taking photos in front of them, Harry’s cheek up against his in every selfie. He never would’ve discovered this on his own – or maybe he would have... either way, he can’t imagine appreciating them this much, not if Harry wasn’t there with tears in his eyes as it came into view from the bus window.

His skin darkens with the sun, as does Harry’s, and they laugh when they undress every night and reveal their respective tans, awkward and unavoidable. Harry bites at Liam’s shoulders, the line between shirt and skin obvious even when naked. Liam pinches just above Harry’s knees, where all of his goofy shorts cut off. It’s fun, and it’s free, and Liam’s bones feel light and hollow, his skin fresh, his heart strong.

The skin under Harry’s eyes gets dark with exhaustion, but he waves Liam off with a tired smile every night, genuine and soft.

“This is new,” he murmurs against Liam’s lips in explanation, and then they kiss so slowly for so long that Liam feels entranced, like Harry’s had him hypnotised and he’s fighting to push through the fog to only  _just_ break the surface when they part once more, minutes or maybe hours later, “I can never stop, usually. You’ve worn me out, Liam Payne.”

Liam has enough awareness to reply, though his voice is croaky in the dark of the night, the barebones lamp beside the bed throwing a warm, orange glow across Harry’s handsome face. “In a good way?”

“The best way.” whispers Harry, and they kiss again, molten hot and just as languid, lips malleable and soft and Liam sinking down into the quicksand of Harry just as fast as always.

It’s forgotten, then, and they meet so many people that it fades into the background amongst the odd night out with a few groups; but mostly it’s just the two of them, really, travelling and eating and laughing and having sex and doing all the kinds of things Liam never thought he would, or never thought he could. Harry’s vibrant, and he’s lighting Liam up from the inside. 

They stay in some of the shittiest backpacker hostels, where they check for bed bugs and they sometimes sleep on the floor, sharing Liam’s bigger sleeping bag. They stay in slightly nicer places, sometimes, but mostly it doesn’t matter – although Harry refuses to have sex in one particular place once they hop on over to Peru, Machu Picchu in their sights. There’s no lock on the door, and the guy at the front desk had been eyeing the two of them in a way that made Liam pull Harry closer, clenching his muscular arms in the hopes that the man would get the idea. 

They’re getting ready for their day trip to Machu Picchu days after they’ve left Bolivia when Harry’s phone rings, bright and early at five-fifteen in the morning.

He frowns at it before picking it up and turning it over. His expression clears and a smile breaks onto his face.

“My sister,” he announces, quiet and warm, and he puts the phone to his ear with the warmest ‘hello’ Liam’s ever heard from him, his expression tender though his eyes are puffy and his face is a little pale given the earlier hour than they’re used to keeping.

“Hey, Gem,” he murmurs, and Liam hears a snarky voice reply, quick and sharp, before Harry gives out a belly laugh so loud he hides his face in his hands.

“Yeah, I know, sorry. Got...” He looks back at Liam, biting his lip through a grin, “I got distracted. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

The conversation continues, and though it begins to make Harry and Liam a tad late, Liam finds he doesn’t mind so much when Harry’s laughing through brushing his teeth, spraying foam all over Liam and apologising with a minty kiss. It’s definitely not so bad when Harry spends much longer than usual deciding what to wear, his arse bare for Liam to admire for a good ten minutes before he puts on some old, threadbare boxer briefs, so thin and see-through that Liam can see his arse through them anyway.

Liam’s at his bag – packing it the best he can because they’ll get in late tonight and they’re leaving early tomorrow morning so their fare to Lima is half-price – when he catches something a little different to the more mundane albeit happy conversation between Harry and Gemma.

“I know I said I was going to do more of the continent, but–” Harry shrugs, though of course his sister can’t see him, “I’m fine with this, honestly.” Liam turns to his bag, his back to Harry, when he glimpses Harry’s own shoulders turning to look at him. He doesn’t want Harry to feel like he’s listening, even if Harry’s been unashamed about taking the call with Liam in the room. They’re already all over one another, living basically on top of each other – the least Liam can do is give Harry the semblance of privacy. 

Harry’s voice lowers as he continues after a beat, and Liam gets the sense that this... well, this is something he’s probably not meant to hear, even if he can.

“I met someone, Gem. It’s... I can’t explain. All I know is that I don’t really care where I am.” Liam’s breath hitches, but he pointedly makes an effort to keep arranging his things to fit in the best possible way, like the perfect round of Tetris, “Shut up,” Harry grumbles, obviously in reply to something Gemma’s said, “Don’t make fun.”

When Harry rings off, sending love and kisses to his mum and his cat Dusty, Liam’s barely got the oxygen back in his lungs, his skin tingly like he’s regaining feeling – like he used to be numb and now he’s electrified with sensation.

“Ready?” Harry asks, and Liam throws a quick grin over his shoulder, zipping up his bag and locking it.

“Ready.” Liam echoes, shouldering his backpack and walking over to the door, opening it and waiting for Harry.

He’s pulled into a kiss as Harry passes him, something gentle and old, like Harry’s done this a thousand times in a thousand lifetimes – and yet, Liam finds himself bringing up a hand to cradle his jaw, breath stuttering out once they part and Harry gives him the warmest of smiles. He stays at the door only a few awkward seconds once Harry’s started down the hallway, considering the room like its emptiness is foreign to him, his heart full and fit to burst.

They make their way to one of the hotels on the day tour departure list, Harry glancing at Liam every now and then with a grin, excited for the day. 

All Liam can think about are those words, turning them over and over in his head. _I met someone. I met someone I met someone I met someone–_  

The bus arrives, they get on, and Harry tangles their hands once they sit, his thumb brushing the side of Liam’s the whole way to the train station. A group of women a little older than them – early thirties, maybe, Liam guesses – give them sly smiles every now and then, the blonde one’s eyes scrunching up when Harry scratches his nose on Liam’s shoulder.

Their train carriage affords them views of the landscape on the four-hour ride to Aguas Calientes, and they enjoy it mostly in silence – Harry, because he claims the scenery deserves their respect; and Liam, because he can’t stop thinking long enough to say anything of worth.

How can they possibly go on from here? Liam knows he can stay with Harry like this, care-free and falling, until he’s forced to get on that plane on November 27th. They’re one day short of two weeks together, and Liam can’t imagine how he’s going to go back to life back home, where Harry isn’t. 

This isn’t like him. Not at all. Liam _thinks_ – he plans, he’s reasonable, he’s _sensible._ Zayn tells him he needs to have fun, needs to think less – but Liam likes to think, likes to know what to expect and how to handle things.

 _Do you, though?_ A small voice pipes up from the deep recesses of his mind, like it’s been shunned for years only to speak up now, seizing the perfect moment. _Or is that just what’s expected of you?_

God, Liam doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and he’s scared. He’s bloody terrified, actually – because if he lets himself do this, lets himself have this, it’ll only be for another two weeks. At which point he’ll have to leave Harry (if he’s still around by then; who bloody well knows – not Liam, at any rate) and go back to London and sulk for a bit until he realises this has all been one big, hilarious pipe dream he was lucky to have for even a week, let alone four. 

His mind goes around and around in these circles for hours until he blurts out something not even he predicted he’d ask. 

“Why are you here, Haz?”

Harry turns to him, tilting his head with a stunned smile. 

“Well,” he drawls, sitting up a little, the sun shining through the window onto his face and making him look bright and surreal, “God had my parents meet, and then I came into the universe after my sister–”

“ _No,_ you prat,” Liam scowls, though he kicks Harry in the legs playfully to show he’s not actually mad, “I mean, why’d you visit South America in the first place?”

Harry’s smile turns a little... well, it’s not sad, per se, but Liam doesn’t have the word for it. Sort of nostalgic, though that descriptor doesn’t sit right either.

“I like to travel,” Harry shrugs like that’s all, but Liam kicks him again and Harry huffs out the ghost of a laugh before he continues, “Well, you know me, Liam,” _Do I?_ “I never stop. I can’t stop. Travelling seemed like the natural progression of that.”

“Until me.” Liam thinks of scratchy sheets and nearly broken Bolivian lamps.

Harry smiles. 

“Until you.” His green eyes search Liam’s face a moment; golden, though not in colour. “There’s this buzzin’,” Harry expands, frowning down at his hands, which rise to hover in front of him, palms down and fingers separated, “under my skin. Feels like, anyway. It’s sort of like a bee, but not really.”

“Is this like when you were a snake?” Liam jokes.

“Kind of,” Harry answers, still inspecting his hands, and his sincerity makes Liam’s humour peter out, his curiosity getting the better of him. “But that was a dream. This is... always, I think.” He looks up, dropping his hands into his lap with a sardonic smile and a shake of his head. “I sound daft, I know. But it buzzes, and it won’t stop. So, I think – maybe I just keep going? I’ll follow it until it does, hopefully. It’ll stop, and then I will.”

Liam considers this, throat clogged with something unnameable.

“Has it?” he manages, staring at Harry so intently he feels like his eyes might just spontaneously combust.

“Nearly.” Harry tells him, gazing evenly at Liam with the hint of a smile on his lips. There’s a long pause before Harry breaks their eye contact, looking back out of the train carriage window at the beautiful Peruvian mountainside, “Of course, when I say that to my bosses, they usually tell me to piss off. Had abou’ five jobs in the past year.”

“Because of the buzzing?” Liam teases, nudging Harry’s shin with his shoed toe.

Harry grins, dimples deep and cavernous as he looks back at him. 

“Exactly, Liam. Because of the buzzing.”

Machu Picchu is remarkable, even after the hours of bus and then train and then bus again. Even though they had to wake up at five o’clock for it, it’s absolutely unbelievable. 

“Makes you feel small,” Liam says, Harry’s bare arm brushing against his, “Doesn’t it?”

“Just a bit.” Harry says, grinning. “Can you imagine what it’d be like at night?” His eyes rove over the ancient ruins, the ages-old landscaped earth. “Incredible.”

A young Swiss guy takes a few pictures for them, Liam’s arm around Harry’s waist, Harry’s around Liam’s shoulders. Liam takes some of him and his girlfriend, trying not to think about how he and Harry had looked, or _I met someone._

Liam’s the one to entwine their fingers on the bus ride back, Cusco dark around them. The sporadic streetlights flash Harry’s tired smile at the action, and Liam squeezes just a little, enough for Harry to turn to him.

“Buzzing?” He checks, eyes flicking between Harry’s with their closeness. 

Harry sighs, sliding down in his seat to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. 

“Just a li’le.” he mumbles, and Liam ignores the butterflies that flit about in his chest, floating happily. 

When they get back to their room, Liam packs up the rest of his bag, and then does the same with Harry’s – Harry, who’s fast asleep on their bed, only wakes when Liam prods him, pulling him up and undressing the two of them so they can shower. He almost falls asleep on Liam’s shoulder under the spray, and Liam doesn’t bother to wash Harry’s hair when he’s like this, docile and sleepy. Instead, he towels it dry as gently as he can before they fall into the sheets, Harry out cold before his head hits the pillow and Liam not long after.

 

***

 

“Harry,” Liam warns him, holding his ground as Harry tugs on his arm, “Come on, we can’t do this.” 

“We can,” Harry urges, and he stops tugging to give Liam a peck, something placating, “We deserve it.” Liam shoots him a look. “Okay, fine – it’ll be fun, though, come on.”

“Harry,” Liam warns again, but it’s pointless this time – not just because Liam’s wavering, as he always seems to when it comes to Harry, but because Harry’s managed to drag them through the entrance and into the lobby, and he can’t make a scene here. They already stand out with their huge backpacks and slightly dusty clothes. Christ, Liam’s in way over his head.

“Hello,” Harry greets the woman behind the desk as they approach, and this hotel is so much fancier than anywhere Liam’s ever stayed in his life, so he just grips Harry’s hand even harder than before, worried and begrudgingly excited and unable to say a word. “I know this is kind of... unorthodox,” Harry’s voice is nervous, unfamiliar, but quickly transforms into excited. Liam feels a little ill. “But it’s just – well,” He turns to Liam, grins, and Liam gives his best in return, “We just got engaged, you see,” The woman’s eyes light up, and she looks at Liam with a smile, “And I know this place is always booked out, but we thought – well, it couldn’t hurt to try. Liam doesn’t think I should’ve bothered,” Harry pulls him closer, and Liam doesn’t understand how he’s doing this, because by God it looks like this woman is falling for it hook, line, and sinker. “There’s not a chance you might’ve had a cancellation? In one of the less expensive rooms? We just thought – well, a celebration would be nice.”

The woman’s smile hasn’t left her face, though she seems a little hesitant.

“Come on, Harry,” Liam pulls at their joined hands, “I told you, they won’t have anything. Let’s go, yeah?”

“Well,” The woman starts before Liam can move Harry in the slightest, and her English is accented, “Let me see, yes?” 

Harry grins at her, dimples and all, and Liam sees her pause a moment before continuing to check on her computer and he thinks – _Oh._ That’s why.

“There were a couple – they booked our Superior Room for two nights – but cancelled just this afternoon. Does this suit you?” 

“Yes,” Harry gushes, “Definitely. Thank you so much. Truly.”

“Harry,” Liam hisses as she smiles at them, asking for their passports and a credit card to put on hold, “We can’t afford this, come on.”

Harry rolls his eyes, handing over his own credit card and smiling sunnily at the woman.

Liam sighs. 

The room’s impressive, Liam’ll give them that. The king size bed sits in the centre of the room, a cabinet opposite with a telly stuck to the wall above it. Lamps sit either side of the bed on side tables, and there’s a desk in the corner, a couch in another. It’s open and light and spacious, and their bathroom has no wall; the shower is glass, and it’s the closest thing to a divider between the two rooms that Liam can see. It’s sizeable, as is the bathtub and the double vanity. The toilet sits behind a door off to the side, next to an open linen closet filled with fresh towels and flannels, and two fluffy robes. The room’s pleasantly air conditioned, though the sun streaks through the floor to ceiling windows of the other side of the room.

In conclusion: it’s totally unnecessary.

“Harry,” Liam says, but Harry interrupts him before he can finish.

“Please don’t use that tone on me, Liam. Don’t be disappointed. I won’t be able to take it.” He truly looks worried, frown marring his forehead as he dumps his bag on the floor by the left side of the bed – the side closest to their ‘private terrace’.

“It’s just–” Liam sighs, dropping his own bag on the floor, “We said one night. I could do one night – it’d be tight, but I could. But _two?_ ”

“I told you,” Harry reassures him, walking around to cradle Liam’s face in his hands as a form of comfort, “I’m covering this, alright?”

“You _can’t–_ ” Liam begins miserably, but Harry just kisses him instead.

“I hate doing that,” he murmurs against Liam’s lips once they’ve parted, “But you’re being... annoyin’.”

Liam laughs, but it feels dry on his tongue.

“Trust me,” Harry says, and he shifts back far enough to lock eyes with Liam, “Don’t think, Liam. Just do.”

“I can’t believe that woman even fell for it.” Liam huffs out, and Harry lets go of his face to laugh loudly. 

“I’m incredibly talented, Liam. The next Leonardo Dicaprio.” 

Liam rolls his eyes, though he can’t help the smile that breaks out onto his face. 

“You’re utterly ridiculous.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums, and Liam can’t tell whether it’s in agreement or not before Harry’s moving on, eyes darkening, “I think we should christen this room, don’t you?”

Liam’s hands settle on Harry’s waist and squeeze, his skin feeling hot – and it’s not from the midday sun.

“I need to shower.”

“Who says we can’t do both?” Harry quirks an eyebrow, grinning.

Liam kisses him, pushing at him until he’s stumbling back, laughing into Liam’s mouth as they nearly trip into the bathroom. 

“Isn’t shower sex supposed to be hard?” Liam breathes, pulling Harry’s t-shirt off as fast as he can, heart speeding up with every inch of skin that’s exposed. He’s excited about Harry – he always is – but it’s like the prospect of a shower with fantastic water pressure is heightening his arousal, as embarrassing as it is.

“It’s not easy,” Harry sighs out as Liam nibbles on his neck, tongue lapping at the bites quickly after. His hands reach down and unbutton Liam’s shorts, “I’ve heard it’s harder with a bloke. I’ve only done it twice, but both were with a girl.” 

“Yeah?” Liam breathes against Harry’s ear, hand diving into his tangled curls to tilt his head back, biting a little at his chin before kissing him. “Why’s it easier with them?” 

“Well,” Harry gets out once he pushes Liam back, pulling down his shorts and then his own until the both of them are starkers, half-hard and sticky with dried sweat, “Held them up against the wall, didn’t I? Not as slippery.”

Liam’s dick nearly slaps against his own stomach with how quickly it hardens at that, a shiver travelling across his shoulders into his twitching fingers, Harry’s skin a hair’s breadth from his. 

“Did you?” Liam asks blandly, though now all he can think about is Harry holding up some faceless girl, big hands on her arse as he pounds into her, mouth on her neck and eyes fluttering in pleasure.

He doesn’t wait for an answer – instead, he crushes their mouths together, licking into Harry with an enthusiasm his tired body refuses to let go of; like if he stops at all, the energy will just flow right out of him.

The shower’s scalding once they get in minutes later, hard and panting, but Liam twists the taps a little and then it’s just perfect. Harry’s hair gets soaked in seconds, and Liam’s beard – because he hasn’t shaved in a while; not since he met Harry, actually – feels damp even as they kiss, Harry’s back up against the wall and Liam’s shoulders taking most of the spray. 

“Maybe I’ll lift _you_ up, yeah?” Liam breathes out thickly, panting against Harry’s lips as their dicks line up, Harry’s hand trying to encase them both. He’s shivering, though Liam knows he’s not cold – his eyes are closed, curls plastered to his cheeks with the wet. He’s obscene in every way, and Liam’s eyes keep roving over every inch of him – his soaked, swinging curls; his flushed, heaving chest; the dark ink of his tattoos, stark in sunlight; his trembling thighs. One of them lifts, and Liam’s right hand slides down to cup it, then further to cup Harry’s arse.

He does the same with the other and then, thankful for all that time working out back home, he heaves, pulling Harry up with a grunt and pushing him even further into the wall. The spray pounds against Liam’s back, but some of it comes over his shoulder now, hitting Harry in the chest and making him moan.

“God,” Liam bites out, shifting his hips up both in an attempt to keep Harry there, and to create some friction. “ _Harry._ ” 

“Li,” Harry cries out weakly, trying to thrust up into his own hand, “Li, Li, Li, Li, Li–”

Liam pushes him even harder into the wall, arms and shoulders burning. Harry chokes something out, hand moving furiously now as Liam pants through the pleasure, the build of it crescendo-ing at a speed he can barely fathom.

“ _Liam,_ ” Harry moans out, and then he’s spurting up his own chest, that spray washing it away just as quickly. Liam watches in rapture, and when Harry’s cock dribbles out the last of his release, easing the way for Harry’s hand on Liam, he comes and observes the same mesmerising show all over again through the sharp clarity of orgasm, hips jerking Harry up the wall with every stuttered thrust.

Harry slips out of Liam’s grip, shaky feet planting themselves on the floor as he hangs off of Liam, face buried in his shoulder as he shakes a bit, overcome and oversensitive.

The exhaustion hits Liam then like a tsunami, and he lifts Harry’s head up to kiss him slow and a little sloppy in the spray, his way of showing appreciation.

“C’mon,” he mumbles, turning off the taps and stepping out to grab a towel from the vanity, passing it to Harry before taking one for himself. They dry off half-heartedly, but it’s so airy in the room that it doesn’t much matter.

Harry’s wrapped up his hair in a towel, and once they’re lying on top of the bed in new boxer briefs and nothing else, Liam tugs at a curl that’s escaped from his wrap, sleepy and sated and curious.

“You look like a girl,” he mumbles, snorting.

“So?” Harry murmurs, eyes closed and breathing deepening.

“Hmm.” Liam hums, shifting closer to nudge his nose against Harry’s, mind sluggish.

The even rhythm of his exhales lulls Liam to sleep, but when he wakes it’s to his nose brushing the nape of Harry’s neck, an arm flung over him. It’s dark outside the window, and Liam lifts his head blearily to see the time read _17:57._

He groans, sliding his left palm across Harry’s side until he’s lying on his back, looking at the clean, white ceiling. A rarity.

He extracts his right arm as gently as he can from where it’s wedged slightly underneath Harry and gets up to take a piss, blinking sleepily at the tiles in front of him. He’s just washing his hands when Harry lifts his head, eyes a little puffy and one cheek creased from the pillow. It’s adorable, and Liam tries his best to ignore the beat of his heart in his chest when Harry’s like this, completely attainable and almost realistic – like Liam won’t have to let him go, ever. It’s a dangerous feeling, but Liam can’t help himself.

“M’hungry,” Harry groans, and Liam lets out a laugh at that, especially when Harry flings out his coltish limbs on the bed, giving a nearly inhuman screech at the stretch.

“Well get up, then, Lazy Bones,” Liam teases, even if he only emerged from slumber barely five minutes ago, his hair still a curly mess on top of his head, “So we can have dinner.”

The nights are still warm, so Liam changes into an airy button down and one of his thinner pairs of jeans. Harry manages to one-up him somehow – though Liam gets the feeling Harry will always one-up him just by virtue of being Harry – with a silken soft, garishly patterned short-sleeve shirt he leaves gaping open, his sternum tattoo on display. His jeans are absurdly tight; Liam almost winces when he thinks about how Harry’s nethers must be feeling, cramped like that. His curls are in loose ringlets, dry but wild from being wrapped up in a towel for so long.

Ultimately, he looks like he just got out of bed – not inaccurate at all – but also like he’s about ready to walk the runway. Liam shakes his head in wonder 

Given the early time slot, they manage to get a table outside at a slightly nicer restaurant than they usually frequent, and he gets the sense the atmosphere must be getting to him – some roses climbing up trellises, the candle on the table – because he slides his hand onto Harry’s knee almost as soon as they sit, just next to each other. Harry’s smiles down at his cutlery, fiddling with the silverware (though Liam doubts its silver at all) like he’s getting ready to say something.

Liam breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t – at least, not about Liam’s hand, whose thumb is scratching back and forth across Harry’s joint absentmindedly.

They get a few dishes and share between them – Ceviche, a local dish of cold cooked fish and onion, sweet corn, and sweet potato; soy-marinated beef with chilli and, most unusual, thickly cut hot chips, just to name a few. Harry makes faces at the bits he’s not a fan of, but mostly he eats with a look of intense concentration on his face, like he’s trying to isolate each and every flavour on its own.

Harry pulls him in the direction of the beach just nearby once they’re done, bellies full and warm and the night air providing a pleasant breeze. Liam feels like it’s a date, suddenly, and almost stops in his tracks. He manages to recover quickly, pushing away thoughts of dates and proclamations and how this is the happiest he’s been with someone else since he can remember.

 _Shut it,_ he thinks fervently, _it’s just how Harry is._  

“You know,” Liam blurts out as they pass by a young family, the father teaching his kids how to skip stones in the relatively calm ocean, “Lima used to be a nickname for me.”

“Really?” Harry asks, and his face lights up, “Who gave it to you?” 

“My sister, actually. Ruth. It’s stupid,” he adds, once he realises how silly this all is, divulging anecdotes from the past like they matter, like Harry cares beyond how it’ll lead to a truly impressive segue into a sexual innuendo. “Just a kid thing.”

“ _Tell me._ ” Harry prods, giving Liam a poke in his side, quick and painless.

“Fine, _fine,_ Christ,” Liam huffs, like Harry’s been trying to persuade him for ten minutes instead of ten seconds, “I was probably about four or so, I don’t know, really – anyway, I came home from nursery, and I wouldn’t shut up about how I’d managed my own name – wrote it on everything I could find that day once I got it. My mum, she was just smiling, saying she was happy and proud and all that. I felt so good about myself – then Ruth and Nicola come home from school, and Ruth says...”

“What?” Harry urges, eyes wide, “What did she say?” 

“I actually remember this,” Liam chuckles, raising his eyebrows in mirth, “She said – ‘Liam, you idiot, you’ve spelt it wrong’,”

Harry laughs, a cackle that he hides in his own shoulder, running a hand through his hair to push it off his face.

“So I’d spent the whole day thinking I’d aced my name but actually I’d been writing Lima everywhere, and Mum just hadn’t the heart to say anything. She told me she was just happy to see me happy. Jesus, I was so embarrassed.” He shakes his head, decades old embarrassment unfurling in his chest just slightly. It’s ridiculous that he can still feel it now, age twenty-three, when he’s holding a lovely boy’s hand and thinking about the future.

“That’s... really very cute, Liam.” Harry says, and he’s gazing at Liam with something unreadable on his face, “And very you. I don’t know why I’m surprised at all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a right laugh, I get it.” Liam waves him off, looking ahead as the sky darkens, another couple sitting in the sand.

“Not a laugh,” Harry says, nudging Liam’s right shoulder with his own, “A treasure.” He pauses a moment before giving a cheeky smile, “Little boy Lima _in Lima,_ ” Harry – for lack of a better word – giggles, “It’s meant to be. Fate.” Suddenly, his face brightens, and he turns to Liam with glee etched into every feature, “It’s _serendipity._ You’re John Cusack, and I’m Kate Beckinsale.”

Liam throws his eyebrows up quizzically. “What?”

“Like the _film,_ Liam.” Harry huffs, but his cheeks are suddenly the tiniest bit pink, his feet turning into each other in some appropriation of bashful.

“You like rom coms, then?” asks Liam, and he finds himself smiling, letting go of Harry’s hand to push an errant curl behind his ear.

Harry looks at him then – and he’s smiling too, small and private – and Liam feels his chest _squeeze,_ like it’s a wet flannel that someone’s wringing out drip by throbbing drip.

“Love them.” Harry admits. There’s no trace of embarrassment about it, but the tentative way he’s searching Liam’s face lets him know this is important, somehow. Like Harry’s very own litmus test; though the idea that romantic comedies would dictate someone’s suitability makes Liam want to laugh, soft and incredulous. 

“Huh.” Liam intonates, turning down his lips in casual consideration. He gives a weird kind of half shrug, he thinks, before he gives up on replying altogether and just plants one on Harry, short and sweet.

Harry’s dimples are deep and seemingly permanent when he pulls back. Then there seems to be nothing else to do but simply tug him closer by the hand, fingers entwining as they stroll along the beach, sand between their toes and a warm silence in the air.

 

***

 

They spend the next day exploring Lima like every tourist does; visiting Miraflores, the Museo Larco, a few of the parks – one with a fountain they run through, laughing, hands gripping at each other – and even an old cathedral, where Harry’s jaw looks sharp against his soft face as he peers up at the ornate ceiling, curious and awed.

They get back to the hotel mid-afternoon, and Liam’s showered and flicking through the telly, confused and trying to understand the rapid-fire Spanish from his limited Duolingo lessons, when Harry sneaks up from behind, his hands gliding up and over Liam’s clothed shoulders and down his chest, blunt nails scratching through cotton at his stomach. Liam turns his head to the left, eyes a little hooded when Harry’s lips brush his, not a kiss but an accident.

“You can’t understand a thing,” Harry murmurs, his left hand shifting to graze down Liam’s arm, taking the remote from him and turning off the television.

“Well–” 

“Come here, Liam,” Harry says, actually kissing him this time before gripping him tightly around his biceps, urging Liam to follow him up the bed. The sun streams in through the windows, and Liam has the absent thought that maybe they could have dinner outside in the terrace tonight, look out over the water. He’s quickly distracted, though, when Harry pulls him down on top of him, Liam’s hips cradled between his thighs, and Liam realises he’s naked, cock hard as it rests against his abdomen, curled slightly to Liam’s left.

“Haz,” Liam says breathlessly, looking at him. Harry’s eyes are bright, though they remain half-lidded, like he’s drunk on something he didn’t share with Liam – but his hands come up, sure and steady, to grasp the wrists which sit either side of his head. His nails graze the inside, and Liam shudders, dick jerking in his pants as Harry pulls. Liam settles his weight in his knees and let’s Harry move his arms. He rucks Liam’s vest up his chest before pulling it over his head and throwing it away, then captures Liam’s wrists in his hands again and brings them up above his own head, warm fingers brushing up to make Liam’s own encircle the cast iron headboard. He presses into Liam’s knuckles sharply before releasing. Liam looks down at Harry beneath him from inside the triangle of his arms with what he hopes is a questioning look on his face, shoulders pulling a little.

“ _Don’t move._ ” Harry tells him, and suddenly Liam understands, the skin of his arms erupting in goosebumps as his cock hardens even more, painful and untouched as it is.

“Christ,” Liam chokes out, Harry’s nimble fingers skating over his twitching abs, the hair there yanked just a bit before Harry pushes at Liam’s navy board shorts, the elastic stretching over his arse before they tangle above his knees. Awkwardly, Liam lifts his knees up, Harry pushing the shorts further down before Liam flings them off after a few tries, clumsy and aroused. 

“Mmm,” Harry hums, craning his neck up to bite at Liam’s chest. Liam starts, surprised, his body thrumming like there’s a charge in his veins; a charge that Harry increases with every bite and lick, with every pinch, with every look he gives under his lashes – Liam feels wired to an unrealistic degree, the points where the inside of Harry’s thighs rest against his hips burning him, hot and filled with promise. “I want you inside me.”

“Harry,” Liam chokes out, “I–” He hisses when Harry scratches just above the base of his dick, which gives its first dribble of pre-come. He leans up, licking into Liam’s mouth before pulling back, lips red and wet. Liam’s about to die, he’s absolutely sure of it. He buries his face in the meat of his right bicep, breathing through his nose to hold off the beginnings of an orgasm. Harry hasn’t even properly touched him yet and Liam’s whirling, out of control.

But that’s not right, is it? Because Harry’s in control, Harry’s got him.

“D’you want that?” Harry rasps out against Liam’s lips, sitting up a little now as his hands rest on Liam’s sides, the bones of his ribs grazed with every deep inhale.

“Yes,” Liam blurts out, thoughts of Harry beneath him, mouth just slightly parted as he takes Liam into him, tight and warm and wet. “ _Yes._ God. _Please._ ” 

Harry procures a condom from somewhere – Liam can’t think about it, Harry planning this in the shower, wet and touching himself just a little, curls up in the bun he has now, wispy strands framing his face. It’s grown since they’ve been together, enough for him to tie it up, and the exposure of his neck and shoulders has Liam staring down at him, wanting so much from so little.

“Can I?” He lets slip as Harry rolls the condom onto him, his hips jerking forward without permission when Harry squeezes the base, sliding up to thumb at Liam’s tip as he chews at his own bottom lip, staring. _Jesus._ “Haz, can I touch you?” The words are rushed, quiet in the room though birds chirp outside and a breeze comes in through the glass door to the terrace, lodged open an inch or so in forgetfulness.

Harry pulls Liam’s head down to his on the pillow, tongue swiping at the roof of Liam’s mouth and making him tremble. He feels restless, but there's a surety in Harry beneath him; his hands on Liam’s face, his thighs pressing into Liam’s hips, a calf lifting to push into Liam’s arse, urging him forward as Harry lifts his hips, moaning at Liam slides over his hole, a little wet but not–

“Did you–?” gasps Liam, sweating at his brows, elbows nearly buckling as he grips the headboard with white knuckles, “In the shower?”

“A bit,” Harry breathes out; then he chuckles, dark and sexy, and Liam wants to shove his face into Harry’s butterfly tattoo and just breathe through everything, settle his heart. “Head up.” Harry orders softly, and Liam realises he’d closed his eyes, head hanging between his shoulders with that thought. “Watch.”

He lubes up his fingers, quick to push two into himself as his hips thrust up helplessly into the air. His leg drops from Liam’s arse, propping up so his knee settles against Liam’s chest, hot and sweaty. Liam wants to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the vision of Harry inside himself, eyes fluttering as he stretches, breath hitching and a garbled moan caught in his throat, high and short. Liam’s dick dribbles pre-come into the condom, which is starting to feel constrictive; it’s tight but not tight enough to get Liam anywhere in a hurry. It’s a tease, he realises, and moans brokenly at the realisation when Harry pushes in another finger, scissoring them as his hips grind up into thin air.

“Harry,” Liam croaks, small and wrung out, his hips thrusting forward into nothing in commiseration, “ _Harry._ ”

“You’re so thick, Liam,” Harry moans out, and _Jesus,_ this is too much. Liam really does squeeze his eyes shut this time, sweating against his orgasm. He’s not going to last five minutes; he can’t, he can’t–

“ _Harry,_ ” it’s almost a sob now, and Harry seems to take pity on him, gripping Liam firmly enough he nearly chokes on his own saliva before guiding him, the tip settling at his rim.

“Now, Liam.” Harry tells him, and Liam pushes forward, measured and steady. Harry lifts his hips, biting his lip, some of his hair falling out of his messy bun to cradle his face as Liam feels tightness all around him, wet and unbelievable. He can’t look away from Harry beneath him though, and his eyes drift down between them to see himself inside Harry, his balls up against his arse as he slides in that last inch.

“Move,” Harry cuts in, sharp and strained, “Liam, _move._ ”

Liam’s breath shudders out before he pulls back slow, only to push in hard, Harry’s breath leaving him in a gush as his wide hands grip at the messy sheets beneath them.

“Harder.” Liam does it again, this time more forceful, his dick throbbing as he feels Harry clench around him. His shoulders ache, the muscles of his arms tense as he holds them ramrod straight. He stretches out his fingers, wincing at the cramp, before holding on once more, thrusting over and over, slow and punishing. Harry’s knee still presses into Liam’s side, his other leg splayed out on the bed as his head turns into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut. His breath leaves him with every thrust, and Liam so desperately wants to speed up, wants to really slam into him, see how his face looks when Liam’s inside him, the sting of him treading that line between pain and pleasure. It’s never been like this, not for Liam. He’s been inside girls who wanted it like this, but Liam never saw the appeal – he’s been inside blokes who preferred to do this on top of him, grinding their hips down to set the pace...

But never like this – not where Harry controls every move Liam makes from underneath him, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at him from between his arms, his hands coming up to grip at his wrists hard and unrelenting, the bones grinding together and making Liam’s teeth rattle.

“ _Faster,_ ” Harry snaps, lifting his hips, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck. The hair at his ears is damp, his upper lip moist, “Faster, faster, faster–” 

Liam complies, and Harry’s making these sounds with every thrust, choked-off moans, deep and impossibly hot. Liam feels it, then – the rush – and he moves harder and faster still, barely feeling the burn of his abs as Harry’s legs come up, his feet pressing into Liam’s lower back.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Liam grits out, and his orgasm hits him in a confusing mess of accomplishment, satisfaction, arousal, and a yearning – a yearning to please, to protect, to feel; his mind blanks at that, and his hips stutter as Harry cries out, one hand stroking his dick in a blur as he comes all over himself, head tilted back and neck straining; the other digs crescent moons into Liam’s arm, the sting adding to his aftershocks. 

“Let go,” Harry murmurs, pulling at Liam’s wrists; and he does, his arms sore and spent as Liam collapses next to him, head buried in a pillow and his left hand resting loose on Harry’s collarbone, his legs trembling. Harry wipes himself off with the sheet absentmindedly as he rids Liam of the condom, sitting up to throw it in the bin before settling back down, hair all over the place as he turns Liam onto his back, leaning over to kiss him through a curtain of hair. The elastic’s lost somewhere, likely, but Liam can’t really feel his legs so much so it seems inconsequential. “You’re alrigh’. I’ve got you.” 

Liam accepts his kiss numbly, his limbs heavy in the best way.

“I know.” he whispers, eyes closed as Harry sinks in next to him, head next to Liam’s on the pillow. The sheets are in disarray at their feet, clothes on the floor. Liam feels hazy and foggy and warm and loved and he doesn’t want to fall asleep – not now, not ever – not if it means he’ll miss out on this; Harry tracing his lips with a barely-there thumb, fingers resting lightly on Liam’s jaw, his breath blowing against Liam’s mouth so softly.

The room feels warm, a little stuffy, and it smells of sex. Liam feels himself lower further into the sheets, like they’re his new home, Harry’s other hand brushing Liam’s sternum up and down lazily, content.

His mind goes under, the staccato breath of Harry saying something lost to him as Liam falls asleep.

When he wakes an hour or so later, Harry’s still dragging gentle fingers up and down his chest, his eyes scrunching with his grin as Liam blinks awake.

“Time’s’it?” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. 

“Doesn’t matter.” whispers Harry, and his green eyes catch the sunlight coming in, oranges and pinks indicating it’s early evening, the sun retiring for the day.

Liam gives a tired smile, twisting to prop his head up on his right palm, yawning a little. Harry looks up at him from his pillow, elastic around his wrist as his tattooed arm gives the side of Liam’s exposed wrist a light scratch before dropping back onto the sheets. He’s still naked, as is Liam, but the sheet’s come up during his nap and so all he can see is a dark thatch of hair before it covers the rest of Harry, whose face is calm and at ease as he gazes at Liam. 

“You didn’t have to stay here,” Liam frowns, thinking about Harry in bed for an hour or two as Liam snored the afternoon away, probably bored out of his mind, “You could’ve gone to the pool or summat.”

Harry’s got the hint of a smile on his face, lips twitching, but he doesn’t say anything. They’re silent for a few moments, the slight hum of a mosquito echoing in the room that Liam makes a note to swat later.

“It’s gone, Liam,” Harry says, and Liam’s eyes snap back to him, though seeing the serene expression on his face doesn’t explain things any better.

“Gone?” Liam asks, clearing his throat when it comes out too rough, not when he was trying to go for light-hearted and curious.

“The buzzin’,” Harry clarifies, something light in his tone, “It’s so faint, it’s just...” He closes his eyes, sighs without exhaustion, “I can push it away. Spent the whole hour just here, in bed with you.” His eyelids open, his stare shifting to Liam, piercing and wonderful, “You were so _loud._ ”

“Hey,” Liam protests half-heartedly, “My nose is a bit blocked, ease off.” 

Harry just laughs, eyes glittering, and Liam finds himself unable to look away. He knows he’s said it to himself a thousand times, even said it to Harry when he’s close to orgasm, a hand on his flushed cheek as Harry locks eyes with him – but he truly is gorgeous, especially as he is now: smiling and in bed and with Liam. 

 _You can’t have this,_ he reminds himself quickly, though he’s stubborn enough to push the thought away just as fast, ignoring the rational, sensible side of him for an evening.

He and Harry’ll get up, put on some underwear, and maybe Liam will break his bank account ordering room service for the first time in his life. They’ll eat on the terrace, legs tangled under the table, Harry’s lips going purple from the wine. The night will go on, and the two of them will stay up and talk, Liam wide awake in Harry’s presence and yet never more at ease.

It’s a dream that can become reality for a night, and Liam grips it and holds on with everything he has, meagre as it is.

“I’m so happy here,” Liam murmurs, brushing Harry’s curls away from his cheekbones, eyes dragging across his face, searching every crack and crevice of it like Harry’s a rare fossil and Liam’s an archaeologist. The wild thought that he’s Ross and Harry’s Rachel pops into his head, but he shakes it free quickly – he’s never been a fan of the two of them, anyway. Rachel always should’ve got on that plane. “I almost can’t believe it.”

The smile that blooms on Harry’s face is small, a secret shared between just the two of them. He leans in to Liam’s hand, and his lids flutter closed when Liam’s thumb brushes the corner of his eye, tracing non-existent laugh lines.

“It’s not like home,” he continues, musing out loud. He knows he could say any random thought that popped into his mind – even the one about Ross and Rachel – and Harry would just tilt his head, maybe laugh. He’s indulgent, in so many ways. Liam wants to make a nest in him and never leave, content to be fed and loved and admired until his last breath. Harry makes it so easy, and the thought of home, of London, makes Liam suddenly weary. He misses his family, he misses Zayn – but they don’t fit into this life Liam’s forged over here; where he and Harry have sex as much as they want, gorge themselves on local delicacies, and share showers after a night of light drinking; where they learn dance from locals that take pity on them.

The thought of going back to sitting at a desk day after day, Sophia’s smudged eyeliner greeting him in the mornings, makes something icy and cold run through his veins. He doesn’t want it – not when he can have Harry’s smooth, tanned skin under his palms; not when Liam can stare into bottle green eyes and feel like nothing could ever go wrong. He’s not Payno, office lackey who works nine to five and can’t seem to put a genuine smile on his face. No. He’s Liam. Just Liam.

“That’s what’s so great about it,” Harry murmurs, kissing Liam’s palm reverently, eyes boring into his, “It’s nothing at all like home.” He grins, something a little wicked as he sits up, moving in a way that means Liam has to lie back down. Harry hovers over him now, and beneath the sheets he grinds down into Liam’s lap. “You can’t do this at home,” Harry breathes, “Here, you could spend all day inside me if you’d like.”

“Harry,” Liam groans, shaking his head with a laugh, “You’re too much.”

“You like it,” he insists before he sucks Liam’s bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling at it before releasing, “At least a little.”

“Maybe a little,” concedes Liam, feeling his eyes crinkle and not caring for once at how silly he looks, gazing up at Harry.

He was right when he said they’d get up, though, because Harry gives one last teasing grind before he climbs off Liam to rummage through his bag, blessedly bare, and stepping into some black boxer briefs, snapping the waistband confidently with a chuckle at Liam’s grin.

They have dinner on the terrace, like Liam predicted – though he realised he would be naïve to get room service and instead they put on enough clothes to pick up some things from a grocery just near the hotel, bits and pieces they pile onto a large plate that was probably a sculpture before they re-appropriated it for their needs. Harry laughs through a glass of white wine, not red, so his lips stay pink. Liam drinks his Peruvian beer with relish, and Harry stands between Liam’s legs when he sits up on the ledge of the terrace, looking out at the stunning sea-side views. He feels old suddenly, like he and Harry are here on an anniversary, together for decades and celebrating.

Harry shocks him out of it when he speaks, tender and curious. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Liam rushes to answer, taking a deep breath before lowering his shoulders, reclaiming his previous relaxation, “Nothing at all.” 

They spend the night sleeping, though Harry insists on making out before bed, heady and slow, like they have all the time in the world. It’s nice to kiss someone without it leading to something, Liam realises as Harry leans back against the headboard, Liam bumping their noses together playfully. He’s never really done that before.

“Pool?” Harry asks first thing once they wake. Check out is at midday, and it’s barely nine so Liam acquiesces, retrieving his board shorts from the floor as Harry changes, arse pale compared to his tanned legs. Liam muffles a laugh and Harry pushes him, shaking his head as his lips twist to avoid a smile.

Harry tells him he’s going to work on his tan on the recliners with a playfully waspish tone, so Liam just gets him to put sunscreen on his back before waiting twenty minutes to dip into the water, cool and a beautiful relief against the South American sun.

He swims for a while, aimless, amongst the others. Most people are tourists – it’s a hotel pool, after all – but it overlooks the ocean and Liam knows people can pay to visit here, so there are a few locals, too. People are drinking in and out of the pool, but all Liam wants to do is swim, lost in the feeling of weightlessness as he lies on his back, looking up at the clear sky and wondering why London can’t be a little less cloudy sometimes.

When he pops back up however much later, Harry’s sitting with his feet in the water, gazing at Liam with sunglasses pushing back his hair, his tan definitely seeming more even.

Liam drifts over until his shoulders are between Harry’s calves, hands gripping his bony ankles. Harry’s eyes are lazy, the sun behind him casting him in ethereal shadows. Liam squints up at him, chewing on his lip absently.

“Liam,” Harry says, and suddenly everything feels laden with _something_ as he brings a hand to Liam’s mouth, thumb pulling down on his bottom lip until Liam releases it, “The way you look between my legs...”

The water feels too cold all of a sudden, and Liam straightens a tad so his face is closer in line to the edge of the pool. Harry’s wet curls stick to his neck, and he has a crooked smile on his face, eyes roving over Liam’s body a little too hungrily for such a public place.

“Haz,” Liam starts, trying to sound like he cares about the people around them, sipping on margaritas and bathing in the Peruvian sun, “Not here.” 

A hand threads through Liam’s hair, and Liam realises it’s longer than he’s had it for years, the ends curling and hinting at his teenage years. Harry seems fascinated with it, two hands now running through the slight curls as he hums, low and just between them. Liam rubs his beard against the inside of one of Harry’s knees, holding back a smirk at the way Harry’s face falls just a little, composure crumbling.

“Okay,” Harry announces, a little too loudly if the way a bloke passing by glances at them with a frown says anything. He pushes Liam away roughly before throwing his sunglasses onto their recliners and sliding into the pool himself.

They float for a while before Harry dunks Liam, and then Liam dunks Harry, and then they’re laughing and squawking, coughing up water before Harry kisses Liam, the both of them smiling so it’s less of a kiss and more of a sharing of breath.

“You tryin’ to recreate something?” asks Liam, struggling not to grin.

“What?” Harry frowns, a small smile on his face.

“ _Romeo and Juliet_ , yeah?” Liam asks, “I actually know this one. Kissing underwater.” He shakes his head, pretending to be ashamed. “You and your rom coms, Haz.”

“S’not a rom com!” Harry exclaims indignantly, “ _Romeo and Juliet_ is a tragedy, Liam.”

“Sure,” Liam agrees, shrugging, trying not to laugh at Harry’s offended gape but failing. Harry grumbles, shoving water at Liam.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well,” Liam shrugs again, smiling, and then it just comes out, “You kind of like it.”

Harry looks at him, giving a considering hum before he shoves another bout of water at him. “Time for cocktails!”

Liam laughs but gets out of the pool, anyway, sitting down ten minutes later with a mojito as Harry chews on the fruit in some Spanish concoction he ordered.

By the time he’s finished, Liam thinks it might be a Long Island Iced Tea. Harry’s smiling a little sloppily, eyes behind sunglasses now, and he looks lax. Definitely tipsy, at the least. He finishes the last third of Liam’s mojito when he offers, and then he starts getting a little giggly, lips red from the icy drinks. They haven’t eaten much yet today, but Liam knows he’s better at handling alcohol than Harry at this point.

“I’ll get you some food, yeah?” He says as he swings his feet around, towel rucking up his recliner; because they still have to check out in just over an hour, and Harry should probably be sober when they get to the airport, their flight to Rio late that afternoon.

He’s on his way to the bar when Harry catches up with him, falling over Liam dramatically and laughing.

“Li,” He says, hands wandering. There are children about, no matter how Liam was acting earlier, so he snatches Harry’s hands to stop them from doing something that’ll have them banned from this hotel for life. “Not hungry for _food._ ”

“Alright, charmer,” Liam snorts, rolling his eyes, “We’ll head back to the room.”

By the time they’re there – Liam having spent an obscene amount of money on some fries before they left – the food gets delivered. Harry eats almost the whole bowl, and when he’s done he’s finally sobered up a little.

“Ugh,” he groans, face scrunching up in distaste, “That mojito was strong.”

“Sure, Haz,” Liam says, grinning, “It was the mojito.” 

“Excuse me, Liam,” He replies, affronted, “I can handle my alcohol perfectly well, thanks.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, but he gives Harry a consolatory handjob in the shower and he thinks that’s enough.

 

***

 

They’ve only got days left before they fly back to São Paulo, Rio de Janiero a blur of food and nights out and sex. Days until they have one last night there, the both of their flights back home scheduled the next day.

November 26th glares at Liam from his phone whenever he sends out a text to his parents assuring them he’s okay. He opens the Calendar app and he stares – when Harry’s in the shower; when he pops off to the bathroom during dinner; when he’s busy trying to figure out what they’re going to do tomorrow, late at night on his laptop as Liam lies next to him, burying his face into Harry’s side when the light of his screen becomes too much, too damning.

They go dancing one night, and Harry laughs and laughs and laughs but Rio’s cursed, Liam thinks. He can’t enjoy himself. The dancing’s fine – more than, which is a surprise considering Harry’s feet can sometimes become independent of his body. It’s not the dancing that Liam doesn’t like – it’s the way Harry can laugh and smile and kiss him without worry, without thought as to what’s going to happen when they get on that flight to São Paulo and have twenty-four hours left together.

It’s not like Liam can say ‘see you later’, either; no, this is goodbye forever. He knows it. Harry’s buzzing will come back and Liam will be too embarrassed at how he spent his impulsive holiday, soaking up any amount of attention Harry would give him. He’ll look at Harry’s Facebook profile, but he’ll never click that button, never add him as a friend. Liam knows himself – at least, he knows who he is when he’s in England – and it won’t happen.

He can wish, he can hope. But it won’t.

So when they get back to the hostel from dancing, Harry laughing at how Liam nearly tripped over his own feet and into the intimidating female instructor, Liam snaps. At least, as much as he ever lets himself. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says mulishly, Harry ranting about something or another as he assorts his bag. Liam grabs his night things and doesn’t bother saying anything more, just opens the door and walks out, showering quick and angry in his stall and coming back to Harry quiet and– well, just quiet. Liam doesn’t want to look at him long enough to identify anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologises softly, and Liam turns his head to see a crease between his eyes, the green darting around the room as if searching for answers, “I thought you’d like it.”

Liam closes his eyes, heart panging because Harry doesn’t deserve this – it’s not his fault Liam’s been daft, basically obsessed with him. It’s not Harry’s fault, even if he’s so utterly lovely that Liam feels it’s all been a bit helpless, a bit inevitable.

“No, I did.” Liam insists, fervent suddenly as he strides over to Harry, taking his face in his hands, “I’m sorry, I’m a wanker. Ignore me, honestly. It was great.” He gives a smile, the best he can when his heart skips a beat, tired and worn out.

Harry’s eyes search him now, and there are a few seconds where Liam fears he’ll say no, he’ll say explain, and Liam _can’t._

“Alright,” he says instead, and Liam holds back a sigh of relief. “You’re forgiven.”

The flight back to São Paulo days later feels tense, though Harry’s hand sits in his easily, lightly, for the entire fifty minutes or so.

They check in to the hostel they were in weeks ago, and there’s a new person at the reception. They’re not recognised, and it makes something in Liam settle, a confirmation; this – _them_ – will be forgotten soon enough. Not by Liam, but soon enough. 

Harry seems jittery for the first time in a while, but he gives Liam a cryptic sort of smile when he enquires about it, dragging him to a tapas dinner before telling him he’s just got to do something, it’ll be quick.

When they enter the tattoo parlour, Liam frowns.

“You want to get a tattoo?” Liam asks, and Harry looks at him, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you just say?”

They’re greeted by the person at the front desk, a young woman with dark eyes and dark hair and dark skin. Her tattoos crawl over her shoulders, her chest.

“I want _us_ to get tattoos, Liam.” Harry says instead of anything in return, and that’s when it makes sense.

“Haz,” Liam starts hesitantly, thinking of all the possibilities – of how each and every one would leave him breathless when he looked at it, words or a symbol or a line; no matter the case, Liam wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do it. And yet, he wouldn’t be able to tear his gaze away, either.

“Hear me out,” Harry says, and there’s a stubborn line to his jaw that Liam’s never really seen before, his eyes flashing, “I know this is just...” He waves his hand about, and Liam follows it distantly, “But it’s... this has been–” He can’t quite seem to articulate himself, and Liam tries not to think about how he’s good at articulating himself when it comes to everything else. “I want to remember, more than just in my head.” He catches Liam’s left hand in his, eyes a little wild. “Don’t you?”

Liam thinks of four weeks, of sitting in that hostel alone and not enjoying himself in the slightest. He thinks of warm fizzy, of Harry licking his lips, of a night out spent drinking and dancing, and he thinks of weeks of activities – activities he loved, even when all he could think about was finally getting Harry alone and kissing him senseless.

It’s mental. It’s completely mad.

“Don’t think,” urges Harry quietly, “ _Just do._ ” 

“Alright,” Liam agrees, watches the way Harry’s shoulders lower just a tad, “But nothing crazy, alright? I’ve got to explain this to my mum.”

“I promise,” Harry says, sincere but eyes bright, curls a little greasy around his face. He’s not perfect – no matter how much Liam might think it, he’s not. His hair’s a little thin, a lot greasy a lot of the time; and he’s got these cute love handles that he likes to show off, the waistbands of his briefs digging into them. He wears jeans way too tight, and his music taste is a little pretentious, and he sometimes wears this ridiculous hat that makes him look like a farmer. He’s idealistic, and he’s not the best with money sometimes, but he’s _Harry._ He’s sincere, he’s kind, he’s funny, and Liam just wants to see him smile endlessly, a playlist on repeat. He’s buried himself inside Liam without thought, taken the very root of Liam and changed him irrevocably.

It’s like Harry walked into Liam’s flat and shifted everything slightly to the left. He’ll walk right back out, but Liam won’t ever be able to get his things back into place, back where they were before. 

They decide on something simple, something that they could wave off if anyone ever asked; talk about a crazy trip away that made them do it.

The stencil of _Brasil!_ on Liam’s left side looks small, but everything else feels big and important and he breathes through his nose when the needle pierces his skin, flinches only a little when it drags over bone. It’s quick, and the raw pain of it throbs in time with every breath he takes after, large and all-consuming.

“It’s a bit mad, yeah?” Harry asks him a bit later when he’s in the chair himself. His eyes are wide, the pupils blown as the tattoo artist digs into his thigh. He brings their joined hands up to his mouth and bites down on one of Liam’s knuckles, playful and so very Harry. He tilts his head, and Liam’s struck dumb by the look he gives; something warm, like a wood fire on a winter’s day, or the feeling of getting into bed once the electric blanket’s been on for ten minutes. There’s an underlying excitement there, though – he wouldn’t be Harry unless there was – like that wood fire is burning through Liam’s veins, like the bed was warmed not by an electric blanket, but by two bodies moulding into each other over and over. Liam’s throat closes up, his eyes stinging though his vision remains clear. Harry’s smiling up at him, and Liam thinks it’s all a bit mad, yes; but he’s rather fallen in love with mad, hasn’t he? “But it’s us.”

He can’t help himself, then. He can’t help the way he leans forward, speechless, and brushes their lips together. He can’t help himself, when his traitorous mind thinks the words but can hardly stand the thought of saying them.

“Yes,” Liam whispers against Harry’s pink lips, only pulling back far enough to flick his eyes down to the tattoo forming on Harry’s left thigh, and then back up to look into his eyes, “It’s us.”

That night is hot and burning, a fire between them that won’t go out. They’ll need to take showers again, because there’s sweat dripping down the backs of Harry’s legs, and Liam feels it pooling at the base of his own spine, his back arched over Harry as they rut into each other, quick and unrelenting.

Neither of them bothers with the foil packet, and Liam scrapes his beard across the tops of Harry’s hairy thighs, relishing in the shiver he gives when he brushes ever so lightly over the healing tattoo.

Harry jerks at the first lick, and Liam knows his beard must be scratching him in sensitive places as he gets to work. Harry’s fingers bury themselves in Liam’s curls, his legs splayed wide as he moans. Liam can’t see him, too busy licking into him with hard swipes of his tongue, loosening him and tasting him and trying to memorise every moment. His own cock sits neglected between his legs, and when Harry cries out minutes later but doesn’t come, Liam rears back to stroke himself through his orgasm, his come coating the inside of Harry’s thighs and his hole. Liam leans back in once he’s caught his breath and continues, making a mess and cleaning up in equal measure.

He _does_ come this time, hands yanking at Liam’s hair as he curls in on himself, stomach twitching with the force of it.

He lies back, panting, when Liam’s done. His thighs are red raw, still spread wide, and Liam crawls up the bed to suck at his neck, leaving a trail of evidence he hopes will still be there in a week, albeit green and yellow.

“Liam,” Harry croaks out as Liam lands heavily beside him, wiping at his mouth, “Has anyone ever told you you’re an over-achiever?”

Liam barks out a laugh, Harry looking over at him to grin.

They lie in bed for a while, hands entwined, before Harry breaks the silence – sweat now cooled, breath back in both of their lungs for some time now.

“I don’t know how to do this.” he admits quietly, and Liam turns his head to the right, sees Harry staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression.

Liam doesn’t bother replying. There’s nothing more he can say – both he and Harry know the score, know that this is the end of something neither of them could have imagined.

He grabs Harry by the hips, though, and drags him over, settles him in his lap. Harry looks dizzy for a moment – maybe he’s not as recovered as Liam initially thought – as Liam pushes him down, grinding him back into his slowly hardening dick. It’s probably too much, but Liam needs this. Harry needs this. _This_ is better than talking about something neither of them can change.

It’s leisurely in its pace, and Liam sits up after some time to kiss Harry, shifting inside him with nothing in between. Harry breaks away to rest his forehead against Liam’s, breaths long and hard through red lips, his hair tickling Liam’s cheeks.

It’s not the best orgasm Liam’s ever had, not by a long shot. But the feel of Harry around him, the feel of him falling against Liam’s chest after, gripping tight and a little fearful – well, that makes it one of the best, as well as one of the worst.

He doesn’t remember much after that – just Harry lying on top of him, Liam softening inside him – but when he wakes, Harry’s brushing his teeth and texting on his phone, shooting Liam a small smile before he spits into the sink.

They get ready in silence – it’s not awkward, per se, but it’s heavy all the same. Liam doesn’t know what to say; wouldn’t be able to bring himself to say anything if he did. 

The airport’s crowded, hot, and Liam hates that this is his last memory of this place. Why can’t he be a wizard and Apparate out of Brazil? Then he’d see Harry’s face before he popped right out of the country, not this amalgamation of tourist and local.

They hang around the terminal together, bags checked in and nothing with them but their smaller backpacks – Liam’s relying on sleeping the whole flight, hopefully, but Harry’s is much longer, so he’s packed his full of books, even has his laptop. Says he’s going to do some photo editing.

The dinner at some café tastes bland and too Western, but Liam doesn’t mention it.

When they call for Harry’s flight, Liam stands up fast, Harry’s eyes following him and lingering a moment before he does the same. They walk to Harry’s gate in silence, and when they get there, Harry doesn’t bother going when his section’s called. It’s only as there’re about fifteen or so people left to board that he turns to Liam, giddy smile on his face that’s entirely forced.

“It’s been fun, Liam Payne,” he says, and Liam ignores the fragility of his tone, the reediness in his voice, “You’re quite the Englishman.”

Liam huffs out a cold chuckle, lips quirking. “So are you.” 

Harry’s face clears, and then his right hand comes up to cradle Liam’s left side through his clothes, where the tattoo burns just a little bit, twinging whenever he forgets about it and twists.

“We’ll always remember this, you know,” he says. Liam knows.

Harry’s continues to stare at him, his eyes searching for something on his face. He stares and he stares and he stares, and it feels like hours or maybe even days before his gaze flits away, strong jaw clenching as his eyes look to something in the distance.

“Good luck, Liam.” Harry says, there in Gate 17 in Terminal 3 at São Paulo’s International Airport. He turns back, and he seems a little wistful, maybe. His smile is faint, eyes soft. His left hand comes up to cradle Liam’s cheek, and he steps forward into him, gentle as he leans down only slightly to brush their lips together.

Liam feels like his heart is going to push through his chest, is going to scream and shout at Harry until he gives his soft, indulgent grin and says that maybe he’ll stay a while – maybe he’ll miss his flight and hop on Liam’s and they’ll live together in London, happy and in love and so very _them._ Like there’s no other way they could possibly be, their past selves erased from history after four weeks learning every inch of each other’s skin, of asking every question that popped into their heads.

None of that happens, though. Their lips touch for eons, and then Harry pulls away with his eyes closed, pushing his forehead into Liam’s like he can’t bear to leave before he’s gone, Liam’s fingers grasping helplessly at thin air. Harry’s curls disappear through the gate, and then down that jet bridge to where Liam can’t ever follow, not even with his eyes.

Maybe he _is_ Ross, in the end; and maybe Harry really is Rachel. It’s kind of funny, in that way it’s not funny at all.

After all, Liam always thought Rachel should’ve boarded that plane.

 

***

 

London is liveable. That’s about it.

Work is the same. Ruth teases him about his tan and Nicola asks him about all the places he went. His mum cooks a Sunday roast and Liam devours it, mouth always full, because it’s easier than telling his parents about anything that happened.

He and Zayn have lunch, and Zayn’s done well in his absence, sold a few pieces and won some kind of prize.

He doesn’t talk about Harry.

His flat hasn’t changed, and that’s what makes Liam stop in his tracks the most. Because it seems like it should have, in his absence; like Harry really could have broken in somehow from half-way across the world and rearranged all of Liam’s furniture.

A week goes by, and Liam sits at his desk the next Monday, staring at the Facebook page of one Harry Styles instead of inputting data. He wants a promotion – he really should be working.

“This is an absolute nightmare,” Sophia sighs across from him, but Liam tunes her out, scrolls down and sees Harry’s pictures from his trip. His profile’s not on private, which is bloody stupid. Liam would tell him if he could.

If he just clicked _Message,_ he _could._

 _No,_ he berates himself, frowning down at his keyboard, _you know it’ll only make things worse._

He clicks through Harry’s pictures from before, sees consistent faces in them – a certain blonde friend pops up the most frequently, and Liam guesses this is Niall, who studies sound design and plays the guitar at parties. Irish, and always telling Harry he needs to go to uni, that he’d love it; even if Harry can’t imagine sticking to any one course for longer than a semester. 

The next picture makes Liam’s breath hitch, his heart rabbiting against his rib cage like it’s fighting to slip through the cracks of his ribs, begging for escape.

 _Bought my ticket._ Harry’s caption reads. He’s used the flag emojis to convey where he’s going, and Liam clenches his jaw. The picture itself is his bright smile, a thumbs up at the camera. The comments are what make Liam laugh, definitely not a little wet.

 **Niall Horan** youre mad. Whos paying for this then ?

 **Louis Tomlinson** :) :) waiting for my REALLY great souvenir

 **Alexa Chung** i cannot believe you’re going on another trip how are you not dead

 **Gemma Styles** Jealous

 **Lottie Tomlinson** how bout we take our own hols?  Gemma Styles

 **Nick (Grimmy) Grimshaw** Can’t wait to hear about your adventures, Styles. Don’t get arrested.

 **Anne Twist** Have fun, darling

It aches. Liam thought he could do this – it was only four weeks, why’s he so caught up? – but he’s not sure anymore. Not when Harry is accessible to him on the internet, and when Liam doesn’t have the restraint not to look.

It’s not like Harry’s a one in a million, though. He’s just a bloke from Chesire. He loves cats, can’t ever decide on what he wants to eat, and wants to have sex bloody _everywhere._ He’s the slowest talker Liam’s ever met, has a penchant for rings, and does a pretty damn good Irish accent despite the fact he can’t grow an ounce of facial hair. He’ll never blush or act embarrassed, but his smile goes dimply and his eyes a little wide when someone teases him; he leaves his shirts half-unbuttoned, tattoos naked mermaids onto his forearms, and listens to Pink Floyd when he’s lonely.

“Oh, God.” Liam chokes out, standing from his desk abruptly and accidentally bumping it into Sophia’s.

“What?” Sophia asks, lifting her head up from some sort of tax folder in front of her with a worried look on her face, “What is it? What happened?”

 _Don’t think,_ Harry’s voice comes to him, an unforgettable smile laced in the words, _just do._

“I’ve... I’ve got to go.”

“Go?” Sophia asks, frowning now, “But you’ve just got back.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam apologises, mind racing with thoughts of buying a ticket and packing and finding out where Harry lives and _doing_ , “I’ve got to. I’m going. _Christ._ ”

He rushes from the office, hopes Sophia will get the gist and quit his job for him. He... he can’t believe he’s doing this, even as he takes the tube back to his flat in a flurry, unsure but also more sure than he’s ever been in his life. It’s like South American Liam and English Liam are merging into a confusing tangle of a person, and he’s just trying to stay adrift, to please them both. 

Harry, though. Harry’s one in seven billion. Liam can’t lie to himself anymore. There’s been no one, before or after; no one who’s made him feel this way, like he could jump off a cliff and survive.

It’s sort of like those romantic comedies Harry favours – he’d been dramatic when he’d landed in London, thought Harry was right in talking about Shakespearean tragedies. But that’s not the case at all, he realises – Liam’s about to do the very thing Harry loves. He’ll turn up, he’ll admit his feelings, and he’ll hope that Harry doesn’t laugh at him.

He taps on Niall’s profile, a little mad with it, and clicks _Message._

 _You dont know me,_ he types out a couple of stops away from home, _but i met haz in brasil and im in love with him and i dont want to let him go. i want_ He pauses, deletes, _im coming to sydney but i dont know where he lives. he told me abt u and how ur in sound design thats really cool._

Christ, he sounds insane.

 _i know this is crazy but its like that kid in actually love right? who shows up at the airport? but i missed my chance so now i have to fly to australia. i know its mad but i dont know how to prove it to you. pls reply soon, im buying my ticket now._  

He’s sent the two messages by the time he gets home, and he’s shoving clothes in his bag – it’s summer there, he thinks. He’ll just pack all the stuff from South America (thank God it was cheaper than he thought) – before he hops online and buys the cheapest ticket he can get to Sydney that leaves tonight.

“Liam,” Zayn greets him when Liam arrives at his flat. He’s shocked, eyebrows raised. Liam pushes past him, bag in hand and his passport in his pocket.

“I didn’t say anything,” Liam begins to explain, turning around to face him, “And I’m sorry, but my flight’s in a few hours and I’ve still got to get the Heathrow.”

“Liam,” Zayn frowns, shutting his front door and walking over, “What are you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I met someone,” he blurts out, thinking of Harry on the phone to his sister, quiet and nervous, “over there, on holiday.”

Zayn’s eyebrows remain raised, but his head rears back a bit in acknowledgement. 

“And he’s incredible,” Liam breathes out, feeling desperate, “He lives in Australia, though, bloody nuisance. So I’m going there.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, squinting his eyes in thought, “But what about your job? I thought you wanted that promotion.”

“Honestly, Zayn?” Liam huffs, “Sod the promotion. I’m bloody well in love with him.”

Zayn barks out a laugh, biting his lip to hold it back at Liam’s hurt expression. 

“No, it’s– I’m just surprised.” Zayn says, and he comes closer, pulling Liam into a hug. “What’s his name?”

“Harry.” Liam says, and it feels like such a relief to say it, to admit he’s a person out there who exists and has Liam’s heart in his tight grip.

“Well,” Zayn announces, pulling back to shove at Liam’s shoulder gently, before moving past him into the kitchen, rummaging through some papers. He scribbles something down and says, “Here’s my parting gift.”

He extends the slip of paper out to Liam, and he takes it to see numbers and _Liam Payne_ in Zayn’s handwriting.

“Zayn, no,” he protests, “I didn’t come here for this. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“And now you’ve got money, innit?” He says with a shrug.

“I can’t take this. You’ve got your art – spend this on paint or something.”

“Already spent a bit of it,” he says, and continues at the tilt of Liam’s head, “That’s the leftover prize money. Things are alright, I told you that. Besides,” He shrugs again, and Liam glares at him, “the world turns, Liam,” His face is kind, his smile small and somehow hopeful, “Even if we feel like it won't. Take the fuckin’ money.”

“Zayn,” Liam protests, shaking his head, “I can’t, you’ve worked so hard–” 

“And so have you, you great, big idio’.” Zayn grumbles, rolling his eyes, “Besides, Perrie said now that I’ve won this prize or whatever, there are a few fish biting.”

Liam frowns.

“People are interested,” he translates with a smile, “And more money will come. I have a good feeling about this, and I want to share it with you. Take it, Liam.”

Liam can’t help but hesitate, the cheque feeling foreign and chunky in his clammy hands.

“Don’t think about it, alrigh’?” Zayn tells him, taking Liam by the shoulders and looking him dead in the eyes, “If you’re that upset, you can pay me back later, yeah?”

 

***

 

He’s outside a townhouse, street bustling behind him in the mid-morning. It’s two days later given the flight and the time zone, and Liam’s sweating in the summer heat. December’s never been this cruel for him, for obvious reasons, but it reminds him of South America and he’s not so sweltering at that.

He’d spent the flights over trying to sleep, succumbing in fits and bursts only to dream of Harry shutting the door in his face. In one of the more frightening versions, Harry had been a snake, and then a bumblebee.

He’d thought a lot; listening to his Justin Timberlake, as he sat through a bad action film. He’s got a little money, not a lot – and the exchange rate is kind to him here, definitely – and he’s quit his job and only really knows Harry. He thinks, though, if all goes well he can sleep on a couch of one of Harry’s friends for a few weeks whilst he looks for a place, or maybe in Harry’s bed if he’s lucky. He’ll look for a job, too – there’s bound to be something out there, even if it’s casual work.

It’d be okay, he’d reassured himself. If the worst comes to worst, his parents – whilst confused – had told him they could pay for a return flight if needed. Zayn had said he’d take care of Liam’s flat once he gets the go ahead from him via text message.

Liam knows this is impulsive, but he’ll always be a planner. It’s doable. Most important of all, this means he can stay in Harry’s life – even if it’s just as a friend, though that would be painful, he admits.

The façade of the building is an off-white colour, dirtied with the muck from the busy road. The door is a dark red, a little chipped. It’s old, with iron railing on the second storey balcony. It’s what Liam would have pictured when Harry told him it was old and outdated – the kind of place students rent out.

He shakes out his clammy hand before knocking on the old door, loud and banging, hoping someone’s home. Niall hadn’t said either way. In fact, his reply had been surprisingly short, and he hadn’t questioned the validity of Liam at all.

 _This explains so much mate . Harry’s been a bloody twat since he got back_ Followed by Harry’s address.

There’s a muffled thump, then footsteps.

“Louis,” he hears Harry call out, and Liam’s skin suddenly tightens, feels prickly and uncomfortable and yet – he feels warmer, his heart slowing from its frantic pace, “Did you forget your bloody keys again?”

The door swings open with a gust of air, and Harry’s face freezes, his mouth slightly parted and his curls wayward around his jaw.

“Err,” Liam starts, heart kicking up a thunderous rhythm once more, “Hi.”

Harry just stares at him.

“I know I probably should have said something, but Niall gave me your address and I was sitting at work one day and I just–” He doesn’t need to mention the Facebook stalking, at least not now, his throat clogging up with emotion, “I just–” He can’t seem to get it out fast enough, and yet so much hinges on this moment that he’s hesitant to say anything at all, Harry’s wide, shocked eyes making him doubt himself suddenly, “I couldn’t do it.” He runs a hand through his messy, greasy hair. The flight feels like ages ago now, and Liam almost forgets in that second that he’s running on almost no sleep at all. He feels so energised, so _alive._

“Couldn’t do what, Liam?” asks Harry, and it comes out in a rush, Harry stepping forward through the entranceway. His eyes are bright, and he’s swallowing over and over as if he’s fighting back tears.

“I couldn’t live like that anymore,” Liam explains, and Harry exhales shakily, “I couldn’t, Haz. I thought of you every moment. I thought of you, and I remembered when you said I made the buzzing stop.” His heart pangs as Harry bites his lip, “I thought – I can do it. With you. I can be there every step, every new place, every time your skin starts up again. Sod everything else, I just–” Liam’s whole body feels wobbly, like he’s about to collapse into tiny pieces at any moment, “I let so many things pass me by, Haz. So many fucking things,” He’s crying, he realises, and he gives a wet laugh that sounds hopeless and pathetic even to his own ears, “I’m miserable, when I’m not with you. And I couldn’t let you go,” He looks up into Harry’s eyes, and he’s crying, too. He’s crying and his eyes are darting between Liam’s so rapidly it’s dizzying. “It doesn’t matter where I am, as long as I’m with you.” He laughs, wet and choked.

“It’s a bit mad, yeah?” Liam echoes Harry’s words from a week ago, smiling timidly, hopefully, wishing for Harry to put an end to this either way because he’s never felt so raw and exposed, “It’s a bit mad, but it’s us, isn’t it?”

Harry just stares again, eyes shining as his throat bobs silently.

“Haz,” Liam begs, “say something.”

“Are you trying to recreate something here, Liam?” Harry croaks, and it flies right past joking into serious, Harry’s greasy hair shining in the sun and his barely-there moustache twitching with emotion, “Because you’re missing something, something crucial.”

“I’m in love with you, Haz,” Liam tells him, and the corners of Harry’s mouth twitch, his lips stretching into a smile, then a grin, “I’m really quite in love with you. I flew to bloody Australia for you!”

Harry laughs and his cheeks are damp. He grabs Liam by his stained t-shirt and pulls him in, crushing their lips together in the most awkward kiss of Liam’s life. He shifts back a bit, brings his hands up to cradle Harry’s face, and then it’s better, _it’s so much better._

“Me, too,” Harry says against Liam’s lips, his green eyes a little blurry up close, his moustache even more pathetic; and yet Liam loves him, failed facial hair and all, “I was days away from flying back to bloody England for you, so... me, too. I love you.” 

“We’re ridiculous,” Liam says, kissing Harry again, feeling his skin buzz like Harry always talked about – but it’s not restless, not like that. No, in fact, it’s like it senses the exact opposite. Like it’s settled, content, for the very first time.

Or maybe he’s taken Harry’s. 

Either way, it fades; and Liam’s left there on Harry’s front doorstep with him, Newtown raucous behind them, ready for their next adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I'm over at [tumblr](http://rainbowliam.tumblr.com).
> 
> Please kudos, bookmark, and comment if you liked. Constructive feedback is most welcome!


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